


It's Hard To Be The One Who Stays

by romantic_drift



Series: Defying Gravity [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: (and it takes awhile but once we're there), (but he's minor), (except I'm Team Free Will!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dalton Academy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blaine Friendly, Commitment, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, Insecurity, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Musical References, Papa Bear Burt, Rachel Berry & Kurt Hummel Friendship, Redemption, True Love, dreams do come true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 63,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romantic_drift/pseuds/romantic_drift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kurt watches with breathless anticipation as the ink surfaces on his skin and etches his Name. </p>
<p>It isn’t Sebastian Smythe."</p>
<p>Kurt meets Sebastian first. He finds out his Soulmate Name after. </p>
<p>(A High School Dalton AU. Also a Soulmate AU where at 18, your soulmate's name is imprinted on your ring finger, leading to the custom of wedding rings - White, Looking. Silver, Found. Gold, Married. Black, Dead)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nice to Meet You (Feb, 2021)

**Author's Note:**

> Have been musing for a long time what soulmates really mean. Blaine appears, but briefly. This is squarely a Kurtbastian fic that spans high school, college, and post-college. It is not chronological, so mind the date tags for present and future timelines!

**Nice to Meet You (Feb, 2021)**

“Come on, have one, they’re _really good_ ,” Kurt says, waving his Cosmopolitan temptingly in front of Sebastian’s face.

“You already talked me into it once, and it tastes like fucking fruit juice,” Sebastian says, batting Kurt’s hand away and reaching for his beer bottle. “Keep your sissy drinks to yourself.”

He wraps his lips around the bottle lip and tips his head back, in a far too calculated way, his eyes never breaking contact with Kurt's. Kurt follow the roll of his throat, licking his lips.

The bottle clinks as Seb throws it back down onto the bar counter. Seb smirks, like he knows exactly what Kurt’s thinking.

“Kurt, will you stop staring at your fiancé and focus on what matters!” Rachel’s voice slices through the moment. “They’re about to start Karaoke Night!”

Kurt groans. “I don’t want to. Go sing with your boyfriend, Rachel.”

He pushes at Sebastian’s legs until they splay wide, and slots neatly into the warm space left for him. Sebastian’s hands wrap around him, hot. The air inside the bar is thick and humid, but Kurt feels like a cat rolling around in its owner’s blankets.

Rachel pouts. “I sing with Brody all the time! Don’t you think they deserve to hear Broadway’s new star duet with her best-friend-slash-Broadway-rookie together?”

“I think that’d just be unfair, actually,” Kurt says absent-mindedly, ignoring her insult in favor of nuzzling into Seb’s neck, and Seb turns his head to let him. God, he loves when Seb is like this. When he has just enough alcohol in him to lose the mocking edge to his public gestures, when he’s just loving and pliable. Kurt doesn’t want to move anywhere. 

They’re at a trendy bar in Chelsea. He can tell it’ll be one of those lazy nights out, where he’ll mock and indulge Rachel while her new (“He’s it! Just because he and I don’t have Names doesn’t mean we can’t tell, and this guy’s _The One—_ Tell Craiglist over there to stop rolling his eyes at me, Kurt—!”) boyfriend Brody looks on with exasperated affection. Eventually, they’ll transition to the part of the night where Rachel diva-storms onto the stage, and Seb and he make-out in the back of the bar and on the dance floor, heated and slow, and take it back home to sloppily finish the foreplay.

“Why don’t you just wait for Brody’s musician elf friend to come, and you can trade one gay side-kick for another?” Sebastian drawls.

“Be nice, Seb! And you don’t even know he's gay,” Kurt says, giving Seb’s hand on his waist a light slap. He already feels bad enough that the case materials got sent to Sebastian’s ACLU office later than expected. They arrived at the lounge late enough to have miss about half of Brody’s friend’s set, even though Brody had gone out of his way to invite them. If that weren’t bad enough, they all left before his set was done, because Rachel had insisted on getting to the bar early enough that she could be the first to sign up, and therefore the first to perform.

Sebastian scoffs. “Oh, come on, half my job is reading people. He was _clearly_ gay.” He shoots Kurt a wry look. “And it’s not nice to chastise your boyfriend just because he said something true about a guy you thought was hot.”

“Please.” He gives Sebastian an unimpressed look. “So did you.”

Seb smirks, no denial.

“And anyway,” Kurt continues. “Vertically challenged or no, he had a nice voice."  

“What? Not too mainstream for the rising Broadway star?”

Kurt has to press a light kiss to Seb’s neck for that, because beneath the mock horror is affection and pride. The past year’s been tough, but Kurt’s now knee-deep in rehearsals for his first actual on-Broadway musical, after his last stint on an off-off-Broadway play was tagged by critics as his “breakout role.” His future as a musical actor certainly looks brighter than it had ever looked.

Granted, it was pretty dark before this year.

“A little,” he concedes, “but his tone was good.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

“I’d be honored to sing with you, Rachel,” Brody cuts in, when it’s obvious Kurt’s not going to reply.

Brody runs his hand gently down her shoulder, and wow, Kurt thinks this one might actually make the mile.

“Oh! Look!” Rachel squeals suddenly, “There’s your musician friend!”

And sure enough, making his way towards them is the guy they saw at the lounge, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. Brody is laughing affectionately at Rachel, saying, “He has a name, you know!“ while Rachel flips her hair back and says, “Priorities.”

“You guys know, right?” Brody asks, glancing over at Sebastian and Kurt.

Kurt looks at Sebastian. Sebastian looks back at Kurt. Kurt looks back at Brody blankly.

“Seriously?” Brody says.

“You’ve never mentioned it! All you’ve said is that he recently moved from LA. And we came late!” Kurt defends them.

Brody sighs. “This is how I know you guys deserve to be friends,” he says. Kurt is about to protest, because in no way is he like Rachel, but Brody goes on. “Here he comes. I guess he’ll just have to introduce himself.”

And indeed, the guy’s just a couple of feet away from them now. Kurt straightens up a little. He’s still cradled on both sides by Seb’s ridiculously long legs—and he’s not really inclined to move from that position—but he can at least not be sprawled all over Sebastian during introductions. No need to be any ruder, after their entry and exit from the guy’s performance.

“Hi,” the guy says, as he reaches them. His smile is even more attractive off-stage than on-stage, and his eyes are kind.

He is, as Sebastian pointed out, a smidge too short, but his compact body wears his height well. It almost makes you want to tuck him away from the rest of the world.

It’s an impulse that’s not helped by the fact that he’s wearing a dress shirt, a bowtie, and honest-to-god suspenders, and generally looks like some dapper 1920s gentleman transported in time—if not for the fact that he also happened to be making Kurt’s very modern gaydar blare like a siren.

Of course Seb and his frankly scary people-reading skills notices his _appreciation_.

Sebastian nudges his shoulder, and Kurt nudges back. He’s not ashamed of being caught out; he can feel the amusement radiating off Sebastian in waves.

The cute guy’s talking now, and Kurt moves his eyes from his biceps back to the guy’s face.

“Nice to meet you,” the guy says, extending his hand. “I’m Blaine Anderson.”

Kurt flinches back.

The guy’s right hand dangles in the air. Kurt can see his broad smile slowly tilt into confusion, as the seconds tick by and awkwardness blooms between them. Kurt can’t do anything but stare blankly at him.

He’s breathing in short gasps out, and God, he hopes he doesn’t start hyperventilating; he’s not that much of a drama queen.

Behind him, Sebastian has gone unnaturally still. Like he’s stopped existing in his body—Kurt isn’t picking up any sort of mood from him now.

“I’m sorry, I think we have to leave,” Kurt says. His voice sounds strangled and high-pitched in his ear.

Sebastian still isn’t moving.

Kurt pulls all 170 pounds of his lacrosse-playing boyfriend’s body through the bar by the hand—with difficulty, because his fucking boyfriend is refusing to fucking cooperate like usual—towards the red exit sign he can see shining in the back.

But before he’s taken five steps, Rachel has moved to block his path.

“What do you mean you have to leave?” She says shrilly. In typical Rachel fashion, she goes on, “I’m about to perform, and you have to sing back-up for me!”

“We have to leave,” he repeats, pushing Rachel and whoever the fuck else he encounters out of his way with Sebastian in tow. He’s at least moving with Kurt now, even if he’s still not giving any other reaction. And whatever part of Kurt that isn’t panicking about this is panicking about that.

As he’s forcing his way through the crowd, he can amidst the grouchy mutters of the other patrons hear Rachel behind them screeching, “Wait! How dare you leave! Kurt Elizabeth Hummel!” and another voice, a low male one, shocked, “Wait—Did you say Kurt—“

The club’s door closes with a bang.

They stand outside without moving, breath puffing in the air, Kurt’s fast and harsh, Sebastian’s eerily regular.

New Yorkers flow around them, drunkenly heading into one bar or another.

He stares at Sebastian’s sharp profile in the streetlight, trying to think of something to say. But his throat is locked up with guilt.

The noise of the city encircles them, and yet Kurt feels oppressed by silence.

He’s thinking back to how attractive he found Anderson, and the shame and self-hatred make him want to throw up—which is so _stupid_ because if it were a normal night out in Chelsea and Anderson was just some random guy, _none_ of these feelings would be swamping Kurt. But Anderson’s not some random guy, and it’s not just meaningless watching, it’s a betrayal to Sebastian because he’s—he’s Kurt’s—

“I’m going to head back,” Seb says. His eyes are still fixed away from Kurt.

Kurt swallows. The _I_ punches him in the stomach.

Seb starts walking towards the subway station. He doesn’t turn around to check that Kurt’s following behind him.

But of course Kurt does.


	2. The Meerkat (Oct, 2010)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boy meets boy, and feelings are had.
> 
> "Sebastian struts from social group to social group, shielded by his attractiveness and money and personality and talent, completely at ease with himself. It makes Kurt feel like he’s fading into the background, the worn parts of him showing up cheap and ratty next to Sebastian."

**The Meerkat (Oct, 2010)**

The first time he meets Sebastian, two things cross Kurt’s mind immediately. The first is that he’s a hateful cocky bastard, who makes up for his technically mediocre singing with dedicated practice, a hell of a lot of flashy charm as a vocalist, a lean body that dances like a dream, and all the charisma of a lead performer.

 The second is that he as blatantly a jock as he is gay as he is hot.

And fuck, is he hot.

Kurt came from McKinley, where, except for a few very specific exceptions like Finn and Puck, all the jocks had been frightened enough of even a whisper of gayness or musical theatre that they bulled Kurt daily for one or the other, or both.

At McKinley, boys like Sebastian didn’t exist.

No one who wandered into the music room flushed and sweaty from practice with his lacrosse team, who unabashedly commented on the relative attractiveness of his classmates while still holding onto his title as the team’s rising star athlete.

No one who showed up with bags under his eyes because he’d gone to Scandals the night before with his fake ID (and how the hell had Sebastian gotten a fake ID after only two months at Dalton while Kurt still doesn’t have one after over a _year_ there?), then bags under his eyes the next night because he’d been up late practicing their new routine, and then bags under his eyes the night after that because of an away game. 

Or anyone who ridiculed Kurt’s “gayface” and “girly clothes” while sporting polo shirts with _double-popped collars_ and plaid shorts, and then without a missed beat regaled them all with conversations like:

“Oh, lots of things. My dad wanted me to go back to Ohio and graduate from his alma mater. Mama had been itching for ‘freedom’, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to be around for her hippy stage. Not to mention that the guy I was sleeping with was getting a little too obvious.”

And because Kurt is a virgin with shameless curiosity, he hadn’t been able to hold himself back from prodding for more information.

“Like you have enough of a sense of shame to care about being _obvious_ ,” he said. 

He stared pointedly at their piano, on which just yesterday Sebastian and some Dalton boy’s visiting brother had been sprawled all over, a sight Kurt and the rest of the Warblers had been unfortunate enough to walk in on. Kurt had shrieked shrilly enough that Sebastian had actually given in and wiped it down.

Kurt still wasn’t going anywhere close to that thing in the near future.

No one needed to know that only half of that had to do with his neurotic germophobic tendencies, while the other half had to do with the shivery feelings he got when he looked at the piano. Every time he looked at the piano, his mind superimposed over it Sebastian’s wrecked hair and open belt-buckle and the hickeys his ridiculous popped collars couldn’t hide.

Sebastian looked amused, in the way that always make Kurt want to punch his Meerkat face in.

“Well, no, but if we were caught, people would’ve assumed I slept with the guy in order to get tips for the exams. And that’s just insulting to my reputation, sexual and otherwise.”

Kurt stared at him. Along with the rest of the Warblers, some of them cut off mid-note on their warm-up scales. 

“You slept with your _teacher_?” Hunter crowed.

Sebastian gave a fake shudder. “Ugh. No. Three words: Wrinkly. Hairy. Balls. No, he was my TA—“ Kurt stared at him incredulously, his gaze very obviously conveying _how the hell does that make it better?_ —“Oh, put away your Puritan judgment, Kurt, we were close enough in age that even if we were caught he wouldn’t have been charged as a sex offender.”

“He could’ve been fired!—” 

“So?”

“—and what about his Name—”

Sebastian’s smile twisted until it was a cruel warped thing. “What, jealous that I was getting some ass while you were jerking off alone in your bed, princess?” 

He cocked his head to the side.

“I don’t see what your problem is. It was consensual, he hadn’t met the girl with his Name yet, and he said he was straight. So obviously, I had to _rise_ to the challenge.”

And then Sebastian grins. As if that were all there was to it.

Kurt was going to respond, but then realized: duh. The repercussions were all on the side of the TA and his not-yet-met Soulmate. Asking Sebastian to care was like asking a kid to cry over a classmate’s broken toy. 

Kurt stormed out of the room instead to express his murderous feelings.

The thing is, Sebastian was right, a little.

Kurt is envious.

He doesn’t want to _be_ Sebastian and do what he does. Not only because he can’t, but because Kurt doesn’t _want_ to. 

Kurt’s always loved the idea of a Name. He can’t wait for his Soulmate’s name to manifest on his ring finger the moment he turns eighteen, thinks about waiting everyday with breathless excitement until that moment they meet. He can’t fathom having sex with anyone else beforehand. It’d be betrayal to his Soulmate. It’d be cheating.

He knows that’s a passé thought. Nowadays, only the conservatives frown upon sex pre-Soulmate—studies have shown ages of Finding vary widely, and the daytime talk shows are perpetually full of people who try to force early meetings and end up with tragic results, like mistaken identities or wrong timing.

But how could you have sex with someone knowing they were meant for someone else?

Yet.

Yet.

Sebastian gets others to look at him, to find him desirable so effortlessly. He wears his promiscuity like his gayness: with confidence.

Kurt, on the other hand, agonizes endlessly in front of his closet and spends the normal teenage amount of time—which amounts to basically 75% of his waking hours—thinking about sex and wondering if he would like to have sex and still a little mortified that everyone knows he wants it to be with a _guy._

It’s not that Sebastian doesn’t ever get homophobic remarks—the football team here is as shitty as at McKinley—but the Warblers are successful enough that they’re pretty high on the totem pole, the lacrosse team is protective of their star player, Sebastian’s family is prominent enough that no one dares to go very far, and his tongue is sharp enough that he never gets beaten in a verbal fight.

All this culminates in Sebastian strutting from social group to social group, shielded by his attractiveness and money and personality and talent, completely at ease with himself.

It makes Kurt feel like he’s fading into the background, the worn parts of him showing up cheap and ratty next to Sebastian.

Kurt responds as he typically does to insecurity.

He becomes his nastiest self.

He fights Sebastian for every solo, even the ones where Sebastian is clearly the better choice (and there are unfortunately some of those).

He even badmouths him to the all the Warblers, who all seemed far too amused with the “divalicious catfight” (Jeff’s term) and seemed to have collectively decided to humor Kurt while continuing their bro-hugs and bro-punches with Sebastian. 

This is how Kurt learns that basically every Warbler is Sebastian’s childhood friend, from when he used to live in Ohio. No fucking wonder the Meerkat didn’t even have to audition, and just waltzed into practice one day. Apparently the bonds of private-school rich boys who like to dance and sing endure, who knew.

The plan to turn the Warblers against Sebastian a failure, he takes to insulting Sebastian to his face. Which works as well as his plan to turn the Warblers against Sebastian.

That is, not at all.

The bastard _never_ loses his temper.

 Regardless of how hard he stabs at Sebastian’s sore spots—and Kurt knows exactly where to hit, his experience at McKinley taught him not just how to defend himself but also how to effectively strike back, and Sebastian’s two-second flinch tells him his crueler marks hit their target—Sebastian… just smiles maliciously and throws back a retort that stings just as much.

Kurt mocks Sebastian for having to attend the sophomore homecoming alone, despite his revolving bedroom door. Sebastian says at least his bedroom door sees someone other than himself.

Kurt tells Sebastian how unfortunate it is Sebastian’s powerful state attorney dad couldn’t make it to their first large-scale performance. Sebastian replies that at least his dad made more money than Kurt’s dad did in three years as a mechanic. 

Kurt says Sebastian is so deathly afraid of losing his friends that he’s always throwing his money around and going along with their stupider ideas (Hunter actually suggested they take steroids once before a performance, and Sebastian had looked _torn_ ). Sebastian says obviously Kurt’s avoidance of relationships with anyone outside of the Warblers was _much_ healthier, since he must know what real friendship was, after his “friends” allowed him to transfer from McKinley to “spy” (Kurt learns at this point that it was an open secret among the Warblers, all of whom finds it endlessly amusing, and sulks for days).

Kurt ridicules Sebastian’s ugly clothes, noting that obviously he dresses like he’s heading to a yacht every time he’s out of his Dalton uniform because he’s either too afraid of breaking the prep boy mold or just plain lacked imagination. Sebastian rolls his eyes and says that at least he was brave enough to come out to his parents when he was twelve, rather then dress as flamboyantly as possible for years in the desperate hope that the right people would pick up on his signals and he would never have to scrounge up his courage to come out.

It goes on like that for awhile. Kurt at least has the satisfaction of knowing that Sebastian is paying as much attention to Kurt as Kurt is paying to Sebastian.

Winter break at home changes everything. 

Between being with his family, reunion meet-ups with New Directions (and many many impromptu performances, he forgot how much they all loved impromptu performances), Kurt texts Sebastian.

One day, as his hands are hovering over his phone, Kurt realizes he and Sebastian had stopped fighting when he wasn’t looking.

Oh, they still _argue_. Especially over who gets what solo, because with Wes, David, and Thad becoming increasingly involved with college applications and the schoolwork of upperclassmen (and in David’s case, his Found girlfriend. Otherwise known as his childhood best friend. Some people have all the luck), they’ve somehow become the de-facto heads of the Warblers.

But Sebastian is unexpectedly yielding of the center stage, willing to let not only Kurt but also most of the Warblers take a turn if they’re suited for the song. His surprising magnanimity makes Kurt in turn more agreeable to standing back and just being part of the unit that is the Warblers—which is something that’s never happened when he was part of New Directions. As much as he adored them, he has to admit it was mostly an ensemble group of a cast of solo artists. 

Kurt’s always going to want to be a star—but for the first time, he begins to enjoy the harmony a group can make together, its own rush of beauty and power.

These facts become true about his life, slowly, steadily, no path back: 

Sebastian is the person among the Warblers whom he talks to the most.

He somehow has Sebastian’s phone number now, just like Sebastian has Kurt’s, and they text about stupid stuff.

They don’t so much spit insults at each other as _trade_ insults now. And even the insults have mostly lost their cruel edges—or at least, the two of them of them aren’t reacting to them in the same way anymore. When Sebastian says something biting and just a little too astute, Kurt doesn’t feel that sharp hurt, quickly covered over, anymore. He just begins composing his witty retort in his head.

And these facts are... strangely freeing.

He doesn’t have to watch himself with someone. At all.

He knows he can be what others would call catty. He tries not to be with the people in his life closest to him. Mercedes mostly makes him warm and better. As much as he adores Rachel, he sometimes is a little too afraid that the wrong comment will lead to either a breakdown or a tantrum that he isn’t in the mood to deal with. With his dad, even though he knows his dad loves him unconditionally and he can go to him with _anything_ , his dad is his dad and he doesn’t want to disappoint him. 

It’s not that his dad failed to teach him to not be cruel, it’s just that—he likes to sometimes blame his bitchier tendencies on the years of being bullied, but deep down, he knows that it’s just a part of him.

And maybe it’s just because he doesn’t care enough about Sebastian and his opinion, but it’s as if this neglected part of his personality has finally found a _playmate_.

They’re—and there isn’t another word for it, which is horrible because he hates this word, it’s terribly tacky— _frienemies_. Maybe on their way down the same path as he and Rachel traveled.

Of course, it goes to hell right afterwards, because Sebastian is a fucking bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written ages ago, when I hadn't learnt yet show not tell. I tried inverting the order and all manners of things, but it screwed too much with what comes after. So here it is, Kurt's introduction to Sebastian fast-forwarded, in all its glory. 
> 
> I still kind of love their catfights.


	3. Silence (Feb, 2021)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I was going to stick to my posting schedule, and I think I'll regret it when I start running out of chapters I've banked. But I'm sitting in an airport, my missed connection having cost me 8 hrs (after TWO standby calls that didn't come to anything). And I just really need my boys and some angst and like I'm doing something with my life. So enjoy 2 new chapters (since the 1st is super short)!

******Silence (Fall, 2021)**

The ride on the subway back to their apartment is quiet, even through the transfers. Kurt sits, Sebastian stands. Kurt stands, Sebastian sits.

And of course Kurt knows his way home, it’s not like he’s going to get lost, but usually Sebastian is behind him, tracking Kurt and his scarf as he weaves through the crowd, or he’s beside Kurt and holding his hand, ostensibly so they don’t get separated by the crowd.

Today, Kurt might as well be invisible. Sebastian’s just holding himself ramrod straight, the air around him impregnable, twirling the silver ring on his finger around and around and around. It scares Kurt.

Kurt wants to talk to Sebastian, wants to slap him until he gets a reaction, wants a hug and a kiss and the press their bodies tightly together, wants to have the loose and soft Sebastian he was expecting for tonight back. He doesn’t know how to get any of these things.

The silence stands between them the entire way home.

As they step through the door of their apartment, the warm lights dim on slowly. They illuminate the flowing minimalist lines that Seb likes, the ornate touches that Kurt loves even though he knows they’re on _just_ the wrong side of kitschy, the souvenirs from Ohio and vacations and parties and all the years that have passed between them. Kurt loves taking the credit for how it all pulls together when they’re entertaining, but truthfully, Sebastian’s presence creeps into all the corners, and to Kurt it feels like what his home should feel like.

Tonight, looking at it, his heart aches.

As Kurt stands there, looking, Sebastian pads across the hardwood floor, his shoes already off.

Before Kurt’s aware of it, he’s crossed the room after him and is clinging to the front of Sebastian’s shirt with both hands.

He buries his head into Sebastian’s neck.

Kurt desperately wants to say something, but none of his complicated feelings are translating into words. Because what words do you say to your fiancé of over a year, boyfriend and best friend for just shy of a decade, a fixture in your life for _more than_ a decade—when you’ve just met the person you’re ‘meant’ for?

Sebastian pulls his shirt free from Kurt’s hands, gently but firmly.

The bathroom door closes behind him.

Kurt stands there, staring blankly at the closed door, before wobbling down onto their sofa.

Everything feels so unreal.

He looks down at his hands, at the silver band glinting on his ring finger. That looks surreal too. In fact, the longer he looks, the more it seems to blur in front of him, shards of colors splintering from the reflective surface. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply in, out. In, out.

There’s something wet on his face.

In. Out. In. Out.

When he opens his eyes again, groggy and confused, only the end table lamps are on. For a moment, he can’t remember why he’s on the couch—these days, practically none of their frequent fights are serious enough for anyone to get a stint there—but then it all floods back.

It’s all he can do not to vomit.

Instead, he pulls himself up from the couch, letting the throw wrapped around his body fall to the floor. His coat and scarf are hanging up by the door, and his shoes are lined up neatly on the shoe rack for his favorites. 

His heart gives a painful squeeze. He didn’t think it was possible for him to feel worse, but he does. The bathroom is dark and open. He strains to hear Sebastian, but the apartment’s entirely silent.

Kurt moves through his night routine mechanically. He scrubs at his skin under a steaming shower spray, as if he can wash off with the smell of alcohol the rest of his night, and skips his moisturizing routine completely, because for the first time in forever, he doesn’t give a damn how he looks tomorrow, because he already knows he’ll feel like shit.

When he finally slides into bed, he can make out Sebastian lying on his back on his side of the bed, his hands crossed against his collarbone. His body is still, and his breathing is even, but Kurt knows he’s not asleep, because his left index finger is rubbing over the surface of his silver ring, again and again.

There’s no more space between them than usual. They both get hot at night, so they usually don’t sleep cuddled together, unless it’s after the sort of sex that leaves Kurt wanting to claw at Sebastian until he’s crawled beneath his skin.

But tonight, Kurt feels every inch of space between them, harder to breach than those last few breaths between them, the first time they kissed.

Kurt closes his eyes and tries to empty his mind, practically begging sleep to come to him quickly.

“I suppose it was about time,” Sebastian’s voice murmurs suddenly out into the darkness. He breathes out a humorless laugh.

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know Seb must love Kurt to let him design his apartment, haha.


	4. Familiar Revelations (Jan, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dave doesn’t look bad—he’s in nice jeans and a dress shirt, but he doesn’t look like sex, not like Sebastian does tonight in his club clothes, skintight black jeans and shirt that brings out the blonde in his hair and the green of his eyes."
> 
> A Scandals trip blow things up, real fast.

**Familiar Revelations (Jan, 2011)**

From sketchy sources that Kurt still does not know about, Sebastian produces a fake ID for Kurt and the rest of the Warblers, and convinces even the straight boys to come with him to Scandals because “It’s been so boring lately you’d think it was a straight club.”

It’s—a lot less glamorous than Kurt expected. Of course, his only exposure to gay clubs is from _Queer as Folk_ , but it’s grimy, the lights are tacky, and the men far less attractive than he expected.

But then some guy walks by in a _very_ tight shirt—which isn’t remarkable in and of itself, one of the perks of being with the Warblers is the costume changes— But when Kurt can’t help but follow him with his eyes, the guy looks back and flashes him a smile and a wink.

He feels himself getting a little hot in the leather jacket he saved for just this occasion.

Kurt can get used to that sort of reaction.

“Really, princess? I’m a little disappointed in your taste. You think having been around me for so long, you’d have higher standards,” Sebastian’s voice whispers out of nowhere, shockingly close to his ear. Kurt goes even redder, inexplicably, and his pants feel too tight.

 _Just a side-effect of being around all these gay men_ , he tells himself sternly.

“Where did the rest of them go?” he asks, rather than replying.

Sebastian straightens up and tilts his head over to the bar, where the guys are getting smashingly drunk and the men around them are looking like they’ve died and gone to hot men heaven. Hunter in particular is unabashedly grinding with one of the hottest guys Kurt’s seen at the club.

“Is he _bi_?” Kurt asks.

Not that he’d ever touch Hunter with a ten-foot pole. He’s objective good-looking, but there’s something smarmy and malicious about him. It’s far more disconcerting than Sebastian’s occasional viciousness, which Kurt on pain of wearing Old Navy clothes will admit he feels a certain kinship towards.

“No.” There’s a note of regret in Sebastian’s voice. “Devoid of any and all bi-curious tendencies. Trust me, I tried.”

Kurt looks sideways at Sebastian. He knows Sebastian and Hunter have arguably one of the closer friendships among the Warblers. He tells himself he’s just curious because it would be _hilarious_ if the king of one-night stands were secretly pining all this time.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck a soldier—or an ex-soldier-in-training, I suppose, if you want to get technical,” Sebastian continues.

And before Kurt processes that, Sebastian’s gone and downed a vodka shot stolen from David (the poor guy was just holding it in his lap while staring around Scandals in bemusement) and moved out onto the dance floor.

In the blink of an eye, he’s sandwiched between two guys and grabbing them both close. Of course, both the guys are the hotter specimens Scandals has to offer.

Kurt rolls his eyes and goes to the bar himself. He’s not a big drinker, alcohol cuts from his fashion fund, but he feels like he’ll need a drink tonight.

By the time an hour or two has passed, Kurt is comfortably loosened up. He’s been exchanging the usual banter with the Warblers. Once or twice a guy had come up to him and Kurt, unable to stop himself from beaming at them all and shooting a look of triumph over at Sebastian, had taken his turn around the dance floor with whoever had asked. But no one seemed to be able to hold onto his attention, and it usually didn’t take more than a dance or two before he was wandering back to the bar.

He certainly hasn’t been the social butterfly Sebastian has been tonight.

Sebastian is undoubtedly in his element. He’s been flitting from men to men in between “re-hydrating sessions” every thirty or so minutes, ducking once at some point into the bathroom for activities that Kurt doesn’t really want to think about, because, ugh, germs.

But—even though his eyes gleam with delight, he’s radiating the sort of energy that Kurt associates with a performance on stage, it’s wild and manic and the edges of it make Kurt uncomfortable.

He doesn’t know why—Sebastian can take care of himself, he’s clearly a regular at Scandals, considering the free drinks the bartender throws his way—but he can’t help keeping an eye on him. 

Which is why he doesn’t miss seeing a large figure approaching Sebastian.

A familiar figure. One that sends off every alarm in his head.

Because that’s Dave Karofsky. Who stole Kurt’s first kiss and then was so closeted he bullied Kurt badly enough that Kurt fled to Dalton in the first place.

They’d run into Karofsky once, at a competition held at McKinley. Kurt remembers the blurry edges of a panic attack, screaming “at least _I_ can live outside the closet!” as the other Warblers spilled out into the hallway and Trent wrenched Karofsky’s hand off his collar.

Kurt doesn’t approve of what they did next—threatening to out Karofsky unless he leves Kurt alone now and forever—but he’s not going to lie and say he wasn’t touched by the gesture. It’s what kept him at Dalton, despite Santana’s best efforts to bring him back to McKinley.

After that, he put away all of his memories of Karofsky, and didn’t think anymore of him until the news that Karofsky was gay spread like wildfire through McKinley. Kurt had torn into all the Warblers before they managed to convince him none of them had done it (not even Hunter, who had rolled his eyes and said if he’d done it, he would be proclaiming the news to everyone and their mother. Kurt had to grudgingly agree with him on that).

Kurt moves swiftly to his feet, his buzz completely gone, pushing people out of the way to get closer to Sebastian. There’s a knot at the pit of his stomach. Karofsky looks haggard, Sebastian is on the edge of too drunk, and Kurt remembers all too well the ugly look on Sebastian’s face when Sebastian had learnt what had happened with Karofsky, after Kurt’s freak-out on them all just a month ago.

When Kurt gets to them, they’re already talking.

“But _how_?” he hears Karofsky say, desperation laced in his voice.

He can see Sebastian’s face, the way it takes on that vicious edge that Kurt knows to brace himself for, back when Kurt and Sebastian were still trying to really hurt each other, because the words following that look always embedded deepest into his underbelly.

“Easy,” Sebastian says, “I have money, and I look like me.”

He smiles.

“You should try it. There’s nothing to be done about the money, but you can start by waxing those fucking eyebrows, they make you look like Liberace. And losing a hundred pounds.”

He pauses, looks Karofsky up and down. Karofsky doesn’t look _bad—_ he’s in nice jeans and a dress shirt, but he doesn’t look like sex, not like Sebastian does tonight in his club clothes, skintight black jeans and shirt that brings out the blonde in his hair and the green of his eyes.

Those eyes glitter in the club’s flashing lights, dark with amusement.

“Maybe more,” he drawls. “Honestly, you should’ve done all the gay men of the world a favor and just stayed in the closet.”

Kurt is in the perfect position to see Karofsky's face crumble. He turns away and into the crowd faster than Kurt thought a football player could move. Kurt is also in the perfect position to see the smirk of as satisfaction that spreads across Sebastian’s face. It grows wider when the surrounding men, all of whom paused to watch the _drama_ , laugh and whistle. One even goes so far as to wrap an arm around Sebastian’s waist and give him a peck on the cheek.

Kurt storms up to Sebastian, rage and alcohol burning through his system, and slaps him hard across his face and his fucking smirk.

The slap rings loudly in the club, incongruous with the throbbing music.

He can hear commotion behind him, the voices of Wes and Trent and David, but all he can see is Sebastian’s face. His cheek is red with the imprint of Kurt’s right hand, perfectly centered. His eyes flash quickly through myriad emotions—shock, confusion, anger.

“What the _fuck,_ Kurt?” he yells, and Kurt doesn’t really understand, but he hears traces of betrayal in Sebastian’s voice, and he can’t help yelling back, because _how dare_ Sebastian look at him like that, when it’s _Kurt_ that has the right to be angry.

“Why did you _do_ that?”

Horrifyingly, he can hear in his own disappointment in his voice, and that doesn’t make any fucking sense, because he didn’t even have a good opinion of Sebastian in the first—

“What I just _did_ was tell it like it was. To, and let me _remind you of this fact_ , your fucking _bully._ With his pathetic internalized homophobia and pathetic cowardice and pathetic desperation and even _more_ pathetic attempt to look sexy—”

Kurt slaps him hard again, right on top of the last handprint.

Sebastian shuts up.

He holds a hand to his cheek and stares at Kurt incredulously.

Kurt is even angrier now than before, he didn’t even think that was possible, but he’s so angry he can’t breathe, tears inexplicably filling his eyes.

“Maybe it is to _you_! You’re the top gay at Dalton! You get what you want, who you want, when you want! But get this through your swollen fucking head—” and his tears are spilling over, as he advances on Sebastian and pushes him back with each enunciated word—“Not. Everyone. Is. Like. You.”

Sebastian laughs humorless, “Well, obviously, Gay—“

“Shut up!” Kurt shrieks. “It’s not a joke! You might not remember what it feels like to feel trapped by your own body and sexuality, but _I do_. And you might not have ever known what it’s like to feel undesirable, like you’re never going to catch anyone’s eye, like when you’re eighteen there isn’t going to be a name for you on your hand because even in a world with _six fucking billion people in it_ there isn’t even one who wants you, but _I. Do!”_

By the end, he’s screaming, his voice ringing throughout the room because the DJ has stopped the music. There’s sudden silence, except for Kurt’s harsh breathing.

Sebastian is staring at him motionlessly, nothing but shock all over his face.

Kurt watches him. He’s unfreezing, slowly, but Kurt has no idea what sort of expression Sebastian’s going to make, whether it’ll be dismissive or retaliatory or—

He doesn’t wait to find out. He turns around and speeds out the door to find Karofsky.

Kurt yells his name over and over as he circles the parking lot, until some of the Warblers have come out to help and followed suit, until his voice is hoarse. He can’t find him anywhere.

Finally, Trent puts a hand on his shoulder and leads him gently back to one of their cars. Some of the Warblers accompany him back.

The other half is missing, along with a very specific face.

When Kurt is in bed that night, Sebastian’s smirk swims in his mind each time he closes his eyes, and he has a hard time banking the rush of disgust and misery that rushes through him enough to fall asleep.

The next day, Sebastian shows up with a cheek swollen red in the shape of a handprint. Wild speculation run through Dalton, but none of the Warblers say a single word about last night. They don’t bring it up with Kurt either.

Kurt and Sebastian don’t speak.

Oh, they _say_ things to each other, during the math class that they share and at practice that afternoon. But they don’t _speak_ to each other. And even when Sebastian has to address Kurt, he is either looking somewhere else or keeping his face and voice so neutral that he might as well _not_ look at Kurt.

This makes Kurt irrationally _angrier_ , and he doesn’t know what to do with that, because he’s still not sure he can seriously interact with Sebastian without slapping him a third time, but he’s also _livid_ that Sebastian is ignoring him. Fuck the fact that he’s de facto doing the same.

Three days later, Kurt hears all over the school that Dave Karofsky attempted suicide.

Sebastian doesn’t show up to his classes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be over here both angry and approving of BOTH Kurt and Sebastian (the latter of whom has had time here to get attached to Kurt, I hope I managed to show the shades for his behavior well :P)
> 
> A shout-out must be made here to my FAVORITE Kurtbastian fic ever, We Were Never Here by SweetestDisarray: http://archiveofourown.org/works/649798/chapters/1182256
> 
> I only read about the canon covering events like the dealings with Dave, and the upcoming NYADA auditions - and I'm SURE some of my characterization owes much to her. So to give credit where it's due! 
> 
> Next update will come next Sat, or if I can get real writing done, this Sat even. Since I know firsthand how suspense sucks.


	5. Amends (and who needs it?) (Jan, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He falls asleep, and dreams of Sebastian’s pallid body lying on the ground, the blond of his hair and the green of his eyes seeping into the ground. Someone kneels beside him, carding through his hair gently."
> 
> Sebastian does his equivalent of crying, Kurt begins to understand, and Dave Karofsky reflects.

**Amends (and who needs it?) (Jan, 2011)**

Kurt is in his room that night, trying to work on a new arrangement, but all he can think of is the fact that no one saw Sebastian all day. David had gone to knock on his door when he didn’t make it to practice, but didn’t get so much as a “Go the fuck away.” Kurt’s trying to convince himself it’s really not necessary for him to drop by Sebastian’s room.

It’s absurd that he’s thinking about it in the first place. He should be planning when and how to make a visit to Dave Karofsky’s hospital room, not sitting here worrying about Sebastian, who for all he knows responded to the news of David’s suicide attempt with a shrug and a “So what? What does that have to do with me?”

Fuck, he could still be “entertaining” someone he hooked up with at Scandals or through Grindr or even _Craiglist_ last night, and that’s why he didn’t come to class.

Kurt doesn’t think so. He thinks Sebastian must be reacting badly, but he isn’t sure why or how.

The thing is— Kurt doesn’t _know_ enough.

Kurt knows Sebastian’s sharp remarks and the personality he plays up and the sore spots Kurt with his own myriad self-confidence issues can spot with a glance. But it’s only now that he realizes, beyond these things, Kurt doesn’t know _anything_ about Sebastian.

What else can he talk about when he’s not sniping with someone? What does he act like when he’s with someone he fully trusts, someone that is like Kurt’s dad is to Kurt? He’s got insecurities, but where are they from, how deep do they go?

Kurt likes being the most well-informed person in the room. It ensures that no one can leverage anything over him.

Realizing his own ignorance and powerlessness makes him anxious and uncertain and _afraid._

Close to midnight, when he’s still struggling to drift off to sleep, his phone rings.

His hand slaps over it and he stares blearily at the display.

It says:

_Incoming Call_

_Meerkat_

Kurt drops his phone. Then scrambles to find it again.

Sebastian’s occasionally called the other Warblers, but he’s never called Kurt. Certainly not at midnight on a day like today.

He presses the accept button quickly and pulls his phone to his ear. His heart is hammering with fear, even though the rational side of his brain tells him Sebastian is likely just drunk-dialing.

“Kurrrrrrrtttt,” Sebastian slurs, and yes, he’s drunk. This doesn’t make Kurt feel any better. Sebastian has a high alcohol tolerance and a very strong sense of dignity.

“What is it, Meerkat?” he says, “Where are you? Is someone with you?”

Without really understanding why, he’s off his warm bed and rummaging around for any shirt and pair of jeans he can find, not even bothering to turn on the light. He keeps the phone pressed hard against the side of his face as he changes.

“I did a bad thing,” Sebastian says, so soft Kurt can barely catch it. “Didn’t I?”

“I…” Kurt’s mouth is dry. He wants to say yes, but that’s not really fair either—“What happened, it wasn’t your fault, not really. Where are you?”

“You thought so. You slapped me.” He pauses. “It hurt.”

“ _Sebastian_ , tell me—“

“I didn’t feel bad about it at all. Why didn’t I feel bad about it? Can you teach me to feel bad about it before I do it?”

“ _Sebastian, tell me where the fuck you are.”_

Sebastian is silent, and Kurt is afraid that he’s passed out or cut off the connection or not breath—

“My father’s home. Westerville.” he says at last.

“Okay, okay,” Kurt blabbers, as he searches the Internet for State Attorney Smythe Westerville, and miraculously, after some digging, the guy’s address pops up. Someone ought to fix that, even if they do live in Nowhere, Ohio.

“I’m coming to get you,” Kurt declares. He reaches for his keys, wallet, coat. The bedroom door slams behind him.

“Is someone with you? Tell me someone’s around.”

Sebastian lets out a harsh laugh.

“Yes, _of_ _course_ someone’s next to me, who wouldn’t love to be with me right now? His name’s Johnny, he’s gorgeous, very Scottish, very masculine, very delicious. I’m even willing to share.”

Kurt’s rushing out of the dormitory, not even bothering to be quiet. He knows he’s breaking curfew, his dad will be so angry when he hears about it, but this is more important.

“Okay, Sebastian, I’m going to hang up now. I have to get a car. Don’t fucking go anywhere, don’t fucking drink anything else. I’m going to call back in five minutes, and you are going to pick up the phone, and you’re going to stay on the line with me until I get there.”

He thinks Sebastian is going to protest, but he—just sighs, this tired soft breath falling out of his mouth.

“Okay,” he says.

So that’s what Kurt does. He bangs softly but insistently on David’s door until David opens the door, bleary and confused. David drops the keys to his car in his hand, and the part of Kurt that isn’t crazy with worry loves David for his willingness to do that even when Kurt offers no explanations beyond Sebastian’s name. He promises to bring the car back as soon as he can before sneaking past the RA’s door.

Kurt drives to Westerville, breaking the speed law the entire way, but all of his attention is on monitoring Sebastian’s status, checking in with him every couple of minutes to make sure he hasn’t passed out. 

Sebastian sings, laughs, muses about this or that class, slurs some story about one Warbler or another, says Kurt’s name in a silly voice, says Dave’s name in a whisper. Mostly, he stays quiet. Kurt listens to his breathing from the other side of the phone, too slow and shallow. 

When he finally pulls up in front of an honest-to-God manor, Kurt throws open the door and races up the lane. Then he’s passing through the gates using the code Sebastian tells him when he demands it, and through the front door using the spare keys Sebastian directs him to.

The house looks eerily like the setting for one of those gory horror movies Kurt has always been too afraid to see. It’s dark, but for the lights shining in from the window. The hallways stretch out before him, while painted heads and landscapes looking down from the high walls. Whatever furniture Kurt can see in the darkness looks classic and beautiful and utterly unused, like pieces in a show room. The entire house feels as if there should be a white drape over it all.

He walks towards the only light source he can see, a room far down the right hallway with double doors pushed just a little open, so that light spills out and into the hallway.

When he opens the doors wide, Sebastian is lying on the plush carpeting, his head turned away from Kurt. For a second, Kurt’s heart is in his throat, even though he can still hear Sebastian’s breathing into his ear through his phone.

Then the bastard turns his head and stares at Kurt with bloodshot eyes and a charming smile.

“Kurrrt,” Sebastian says, rolling the _r_ in his mouth, looking pleased with himself.

Kurt hangs up the phone and jams it back in his pocket.

“Yeah, it’s me. And you’re an asshole.”

Jesus, there’s an _entire_ empty bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label—and even Kurt knows that the stuff is expensive—next to him. And the display doors of the vanity in the room are still open. Kurt looks around.

It’s clearly an office.

“You broke into your dad’s alcohol stash,” Kurt says flatly.

Sebastian huffs out a breath from his position on the floor. “He won’t miss it. He doesn’t miss anything.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say to that.

So instead of replying, he kneels down and pulls Sebastian to his feet. Sebastian pushes his head into the cradle of Kurt’s neck, letting his head loll in the hollow here.

“I don’t fucking know why you called me. Where’s your room?” Kurt asks, as he starts wrestling Sebastian out of the room and into the hallway.

“The other hallway,” Sebastian slurs out. He sounds drowsy. Kurt jostles him a little as they walk. Sebastian is _not_ falling asleep on Kurt now.

There’s silence.

Then Sebastian adds, so quiet Kurt has to strain to hear, “I thought you’d answer.”

Kurt clutches tighter to Sebastian’s heavy body with his hands.

Soon enough, he’s pushing into Sebastian’s bedroom. He lets Sebastian go just a touch too brusquely, and his body crashes down onto the bed, his long limbs splaying all over the cream white sheets at odd angles. His green eyes, glazed with alcohol, fixes on the white ceiling.

Kurt tears his eyes away and surveys the room instead. It’s as still and as— _empty_ —as the rest of the house, and the sound of Kurt trying to catch his breath after lugging a solid teenage boy’s body down the hall practically echo in the quiet. There’s some generic books, a couple of trophies, some tastefully chosen décor and photos, clothes that look a little too small over the back of the bed and in the closet, but— Kurt doesn’t get it.

“It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt, isn’t it?” Sebastian breathes, sounding small and tired, overwhelmed.

Kurt looks back at Sebastian. He knows Sebastian possibly just had a revelation, but—

“Did you just figure that out?” He asks incredulously. “What exactly did you think it was _before_?”

Sebastian laughs a dry, humorless laugh that peters out into practically a sob, and Kurt’s anger dies in his throat. 

He feels an inexplicable urge to be closer, to watch the movements of Sebastian’s face. So he does, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed.

“No one ever fucking cared,” Sebastian says, his eyes fluttering close. “How was I supposed to know some offhand comments I made would suddenly matter so much?”

Kurt says, after a moment, carefully, “Of course what you do matters.”

He isn’t sure how he feels about Sebastian right now, but he knows the moment is tenuous, and he wants—he wants to not break it, to be let in.

Sebastian turns his head to look at Kurt. His smile is razor-sharp.

“Do you know what people see when they look at me, Kurt? A gay Parisian boy. Fuck that I’m a state attorney’s son, that I play lacrosse and am in a glee club and in the fucking honor society, oh no, I’m never those things. I’m just the loudest, brightest, straightest homo in the room. But that’s fine. It’s always been fine. Do you know why?”

Kurt feels like he’s stopped breathing.

“Because it doesn’t fucking matter. Except the bitchy things I say, apparently.”

He laughs again. Kurt’s starting to really fucking hate that hard laugh of his.

“I used to have this nightmare, back when Mama still grounded me for going to clubs in one of her occasional parenting kicks,” he says, so so nonchalantly. “I’d just be lying on the ground, and color would just leech out, and I’d bleed until I was waxy and gray. A leaf would fall—and I’d disintegrate into dust.”

Kurt thinks about the dark hallways he just walked through, the loud echoes of all the big rooms, beautiful but empty, this fucking _guestroom_. He thinks about himself under the glittering lights of the club, telling Sebastian that he could never understand what it’s like to feel undesirable, to feel invisible and insignificant.

He wants to cry, he’s not sure why or for who. His world twist and shifts, and when the pieces have slotted back into place, his hand has unconsciously crept over to cup the side of Sebastian’s head.

““I’m sorry I told you that you couldn’t possibly know,” he tells him, his voice thick. He hopes Sebastian knows what he means, won’t mock him for the quiver in his voice or the obtuseness of his response.

Sebastian looks at him.

“I didn’t know you felt like that,” he whispers.

Kurt doesn’t ask which parts of what he said Sebastian is referring to.

He pushes words pass the uncomfortable roll in his throat.

“That’s kind of the point,” he replies.

He takes a deep breath.

“I—a sharp personality is one thing, but cruelty’s another. You shouldn’t have done it,” he says. Beside him, Sebastian is staring straight at him. There’s no indication that he’s drunk out of his mind, except the bloodshot eyes looking intently at him.

Kurt shoulders on. This—this is important, even if he’s not sure how much of this Sebastian will remember tomorrow. It’s important that he meets Sebastian’s honesty with his own.

“The way to deal with feeling like the world isn’t real isn’t to treat the rest of the world like it’s not real either,” he says. “It’s to do things that matter, dig deep until you’re filled with feelings that matter and surrounded by people that do too.”

“I—I used to be like that, wavering between feeling too much and not feeling anything at all, until—until I found New Directions.”

They’re quiet. Kurt listens to Sebastian’s breathing. He syncs his breaths to Sebastian’s own.

“But what if,” Sebastian says, softly, slowly, “I dig deep, and there isn’t anything there?”

Kurt feels like someone’s stabbed him in the stomach. How does Sebastian incite these emotions from him even when drunk out of his mind?

“Don’t be an idiot,” Kurt tells him with a watery huff. “Of course you do, else you wouldn’t be here getting drunk off your ass.” He pauses. “You just bury it really really fucking deep.”

Sebastian laughs. His laugh doesn’t have that metallic edge anymore. It sounds sleepy, and Kurt is glad. He stands up and gently pushes at Sebastian’s body, trying to arrange his limbs so that they’re no longer sprawled every which way. He wrestles the blanket higher up, but Sebastian’s already burrowing himself into the bed.

Kurt sits still there for a moment, looking at Sebastian’s eyes moving beneath his lids.

There are clatters out in the hall, which turns quickly to footsteps running in the direction of the office.

“Shit,” he says, standing up, just in time for someone to slam open the door.

There’s a man standing in the doorframe. Broad-shouldered, Sebastian’s dirty blond hair but cropped short, his suited body stock-still but his eyes whipping from Sebastian to the room to Kurt, back again.

“I’m sorry—Sebastian—I can explain—“ he says.

Mr. Smythe’s—and it’s clearly Sebastian’s dad—eyes snap to Kurt. There’s a cascade of emotions running across his face, confusion and anger and fear and— _oh_.

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Kurt says, hastily. “He’s just… passed out drunk right now.”

All the tension drains out of Mr. Smythe’s body. He collapses onto one of the armchairs.

“Oh God,” he says, between rough laughs, “Is that all?” 

“Um—no,” Kurt admits. “But that’s—a complicated story that doesn’t matter right now.” He waits a beat. “Sorry about your whiskey, he broke into your liquor stash."

Mr. Smythe shakes his head, still laughing. 

“Please,” he says. “Sebastian’s been stealing my alcohol since he turned twelve, and he’s French.”

Kurt’s not sure how to respond to this insight into Mr. Smythe’s parenting. 

“Do you, um, want to sit?” he says at last.

Mr. Smythe nods. He slowly enters the room, and sits down heavily on the bed, next to Sebastian, where Kurt was sitting just minutes ago.

“What’s your name?” Mr. Smythe asks suddenly.

“Kurt,” he says. “Kurt Hummel.”

“Well, Kurt Hummel… thank you for taking care of my son.”

“I—it’s not been—well, to be honest, it has been a problem, but I can handle him,” Kurt says, suddenly feeling flustered.

Mr. Smythe laughs again. There’s something about the deep and gruff way he laughs that reminds Kurt of Sebastian’s voice.

“I can take it from here. Do you need a ride back—you do go to Dalton? Right, well, I can call back my driver.”

“No, I—I took David’s car. David from the Warblers.” Mr. Smythe nods in recognition. “I’ll take his car back to campus and catch some sleep before classes starts.”

Mr. Smythe nods again, but he’s already turned away to look at his son. His hand is carding through Sebastian’s hair, hesitantly, in an eerily similar echo of Kurt’s hands a bit ago.

Kurt leaves Seb in his dad’s hands, driving back and dumping himself onto his bed in a daze. He replays the way Sebastian’s dad touched his son, a little awkward, again and again.

He falls asleep, and dreams of Sebastian’s pallid body lying on the ground, the blond of his hair and the green of his eyes seeping into the ground. Someone kneels beside him, carding through his hair gently.

* * *

 

“Hey,” Sebastian says.

“Hey,” Kurt replies. He tries not to let on from that one syllable all the emotions that had slammed into him the moment he saw _Meerkat_ flashing across his phone’s screen.

He hadn’t expected to see Sebastian in class the morning after that drive to Westerville—God knows _he_ barely dragged himself out of bed the next day—but when he hadn’t seen Sebastian during classes the day after either, and none of the other Warblers had heard anything about him… he’d been… _Worried,_ maybe.

But now here Sebastian is on the phone, sounding like his cocky self again. 

“I’m driving,” he says, apropros of nothing.

“Ohhhhkay,” Kurt says. Apparently Sebastian is just going to pretend his drunken night with Kurt never happened. Kurt isn’t sure he can pretend the same.

“I’m heading to the hospital,” Sebastian says. 

“Oh.” 

Guess not.

They’re quiet. Kurt wonders what it is Sebastian is expecting from him exactly—

“Oh,” he exclaims, “Oh. Right. Um. I was actually intending to do the same. Actually, I’ve already borrowed David’s car”—more like he’s never returned it—“I’ll see you there in thirty minutes.”

Sebastian laughs.

“What? Do you usually go see people who used to routinely beat you up in the hospital?”

Kurt thinks about Puck and the other New Directions boys. He doesn’t explain, says simply, “Yes.” And then, after a pause. “And I’d certainly do it for a friend.”

There’s another pause.

“See you there then, Gayface.”

Sebastian’s voice is low and soft. Kurt thinks it sounds a little like gratitude.

* * *

 

When Kurt gets there, Sebastian is already sitting in one of the plastic hospital chairs. When he sees Kurt, he smiles his signature smirk, but Kurt doesn’t think his just-fucked hair is intentional today, and there are deep circles underneath his eyes. Kurt can’t stop looking at him. 

“Have you been in there?” he asks. 

“No, I’m not sure if that would be… The nurse told me he’s awake, but…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t even bring flowers or fruit,” he says.

Kurt bursts out laughing.

Sebastian glares at him. “ _What_?” he snaps.

“You really can’t hide those rich boy roots, can you?” Kurt says, an amused smile still playing on his lips, even as he gentles his tone and sits down next to Sebastian.

“It’s only polite,” Sebastian grumbles, but he’s holding himself just a little looser now.

They sit together for a little longer.

“I—I can go in first, if you want. And then you can go in afterwards.”

He looks over at Sebastian. Sebastian’s not looking at him, but he gives a sharp nod.

So Kurt does.

Karofsky is sitting up and looking at him when he opens the door. For such a big guy, he looks lost among the pristine white of the bed and the machines. There are a couple of gifts on a side table, but not many.

“Hi, Dave,” he says.

Now he wishes he’d brought something too, just so that he’d have something to hold. His hands hang by his side, sweaty and empty.

“Hi, Kurt,” Karofsky says in reply.

He enters the private room a step at a time.

“This is a nice room,” he says, and promptly wants to bite off his tongue. There are times for pleasantries, and times when they’re really fucking out of place.

“Yeah, well, they wanted to keep me under watch for the first twenty-four hours.” He shrugged. “And then, well, to be honest, I almost went to Dalton. My family has enough money to keep a private room.”

Kurt has absolutely no idea what to say.

Karofsky sighs.

“I appreciate you being here,” he says. “You didn’t have to, but. Thanks.”

“No—no—“ Kurt moves swiftly to Karofsky’s side. “I did. I’m sorry I didn’t try to talk to you earlier, even though I knew what was happening. It was just that my life was functional for the first time in so long, and for once it wasn’t me—And it’s not an excuse, I just didn’t _think_ —“

Karofsky grunts. “Think people’d call it karma. Would’ve been ironic, ex-homophobic bully committing suicide because he was being bullied for being gay.”

“That’s—no, you didn’t _deserve_ it, Dave. Regardless of what happened in the past—“

“Oh, right. Yeah, happens to lots of gay kids, doesn’t it. I’m just the one that couldn’t handle it—”

“No, Dave, _no,_ “ Kurt says, low and intense. “What you went through. No one should go through that. _No one. Ever_.”

They look at each other.

“Thanks,” Karofsky says again.

“You’re welcome,” Kurt says back, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He fidgets in place.

Kurt finally decides to get to the point of the other reason for his visit. Who is sitting out there on the other side of the wall, likely pretending to not feel guilty and nervous out of his mind.

“I’m not the only one here,” Kurt says, “Sebastian is outside. He wants to see you, if you wouldn’t mind seeing him.”

Karofsky’s eyes flick to the door.

“Oh. Thought the person the nurse mentioned must’ve been you. Why’s he here?”

Kurt shrugs, uncomfortable. “I. I think he wanted to talk to you about what he said a couple of nights ago, at the club.”

Karofsky stares at him.

“Smythe wants to _apologize_?” Karofsky says, and the incredulity and dark amusement in his voice rubs Kurt the wrong way.

“It’s not like it’d be _that_ weird if he did,” Kurt snaps.

And then he remembers. Fragile patient. Shit.

Now Karofsky’s looking at him, a look of contemplation on his face, and Kurt’s not sure if Karofsky’s trying to figure him out or trying to decide whether or not to see Sebastian. He just instinctively knows Sebastian really _really_ needs to see Karofsky today. And it’s not fair to pressure him, but Kurt is already rambling.

 “I—look, he would never let on, but he really does want to see you. I know you’re probably reluctant, but if you could just see him for a couple of—“

“Tell him to come in,” Karofsky cuts in. “It’s not a big deal. He said some nasty things, but it wasn’t even approaching any of the shit I saw on the Internet the last couple of months. So I’ll see him if he wants me to.”

“Oh. Okay,” Kurt says dumbly. “I’ll just… go and tell him.”

When he walks out, he’s in a bit of a daze, feeling like the world’s moved around on him a second time in a span of a couple of days. Sebastian is still sitting on one of the waiting chairs. He’s not leaning back, posture unconsciously perfect, hands clasped in front of him so tight his knuckles are white.

Before Sebastian can ask, Kurt says, “He says you should go in.” 

There’s a question in Sebastian’s eyes, but Kurt tips his head towards the door as he makes his way to one of the chairs.

He doesn’t say anything else, because it’s not his place.

Sebastian stands up slowly, confidence wrapping itself around him with each inch he rises, and Kurt’s never seen the transformation so starkly before. Kurt hasn’t ever consciously realized, and he thinks it’s actually not the best defense technique in this situation—Sebastian’s trying to make amends, not impress anybody— but Kurt still marvels at the transformation.

But before he goes into the room, Sebastian turns back and looks at Kurt.

Kurt smiles. “I’ll be right here,” he says.

The door closes behind Sebastian with a soft snick.

Kurt goes down the hall to grab some water, because he knows he’s not only a gossip queen but also a snoop, and if he stood around he would’ve risked falling to the temptation of eavesdropping. And even _he_ knows that conversation isn’t for him.

But when he comes back nearly fifteen minutes later, there’s no sign of Sebastian.

At the thirty-minute mark, the door opens and Sebastian walks out.

Kurt had already sent texts to the Warblers letting them know he and Sebastian were going to miss rehearsal, and was resorting to madly texting his dad things like “What are you cooking for dinner?” and “What about Carole?” and “Is Finn and Rachel okay?” as a distraction. He had been about five minutes away from biting his nails, which is a habit he kicked when he was six and realized one couldn’t have gorgeous nails if one was constantly biting at them.

He looks at Sebastian, but he returns the gaze calmly. His face doesn’t betray anything, and Kurt’s not that good at reading Sebastian yet.

“Let’s go,” Sebastian says.

When they get to the parking lot, Kurt expects him to split for his own car, but he continues to walk with Kurt, until they’re right by David’s.

Kurt stands fiddling with the keys next to the driver’s side, Sebastian leaning against the hood of the car. They stare across at each other, Sebastian’s eyes steady underneath his ridiculously long lashes.

“We’re going to kick competitions to the side for two months and throw a lavish charity concert for the Born This Way Foundation instead,” Sebastian says. “I’m going to put together a new routine, and you’re going convince New Directions and some of the other sad groups we compete with to put aside their one-sided rivalry with us and participate.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says.

And it’s decided.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got real writing done this week, so everyone gets a new chapter, yay! And it's kind of long!
> 
> 1\. Kurt's compassion is his defining characteristic (to me, anyway—besides his delicious cattiness). And Sebastian, who is also deliciously catty, has a real journey towards compassion, even if the show's execution wasn't always there. It makes sense to me that is what would first draw Sebastian (platonically) to Kurt and trust him, and also the perfect vehicle to get Kurt to grasp Sebastian. 
> 
> 2\. I've actually often thought Dave Karofsky's entire arc is, for all the melodrama, shockingly moving. It might be 2016, but some things still hit home. I hope I did it justice. And if you have been affected or care about bullying or queer issues at all, consider looking at and supporting the The Trevor Project and the It Gets Better project. 
> 
> 3\. Thank you, collectively, for all your kudos and comments. I treasure each and every one, it means a lot to a recent newcomer. If you have any thoughts at all, let me know!


	6. Fork in the Road (April, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The crowd continues its standing ovation, as he looks at the bright laughing faces of his boys."
> 
> The concert happens, and Kurt realizes where he fits, and where he wants to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midweek fic break! A more substantial update to come on Saturday. But look, they're friends now! Our love story can finally start, haha.

**Fork in the Road (April, 2011)**

New Directions get off the stage, and Kurt meets them in the back. He suffers through Rachel’s hard bouncy hug, Mercedes’s warm all-encompassing one, even Finn’s, steady and strong. They were amazing and dazzling on stage, and watching from the side, Kurt remembered how much freedom the group had given him, and almost ached with the memories.

“Hummel, come on. We’re next!” he hears someone yell behind him. And yup. That’s Sebastian’s voice.

He pats Finn on the back, and ignore his friends' look of befuddlement at his obedience.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

When he turns back, all the Warblers are standing in formation, although Sebastian is turned towards him, leaning back with his hands in his pockets.

Kurt smiles at him.

And then, because he’s a little neurotic, he has to go and fix Sebastian’s tie, which is a little crooked.

“Oi, personal space,” Sebastian says, even as he stands still for Kurt.

“Like you could fix it yourself. Honestly,” Kurt complains. “You’ve been wearing this uniform for months. How do you still get it wrong?”

“The changing room was distracting,” he says.

They had had to share a room with New Directions, which could’ve turned out astronomically bad but thankfully didn’t. And because Kurt appreciates Sebastian’s compliance, he doesn’t bitch more about Sebastian’s ugly knot.

He finally steps back and pats the tie down, satisfied.

“You ready?” Sebastian says.

Kurt meets Sebastian’s tone with a smirk of his own.

“Why don’t you wait and see?” he says, and slides into the line-up.

They pool out on the stage as a unit, Sebastian stepping forward to give a few words about the concert. Kurt thought he would be able to make out his dad and Carole in the crowd, or even David Karofsky in his front row seat, but the lights are too blinding for that. All he can make out is that the house is packed.

But Kurt is a performer, and that knowledge doesn’t spread nervousness throughout his body, it feeds the pride and excitement bubbling in him, desperate for an outlet. And the moment Sebastian steps back into formation, they’re off.

 _“The sun goes down, the star comes up, and all that counts, is here and now. My universe, will never be the same. I’m glad you came, I’m glad you came,”_ Sebastian sings.

The Warblers join him then, in harmony and rhythm. They’re brash and confident, moving as one, throwing their voices into his, and if the song’s lyrics are a tad too obvious, Kurt doesn’t care. He smiles as brightly as the rest of the Warblers, sings and dances with them, and this is what the Warblers have taught him that he didn’t know before—the thrill of being part of a unit.

The song ends, the lights flash out.

The moment they do, Kurt is tearing off his black and red blazer. Someone’s holding up a flashlight off-stage, and Kurt moves towards it, throws on the monstrously kitschy disco-ball of a vest the stage hand’s holding, and scrambles up the platform, trying his best not to fall as they’re pushing it onto the stage while they still have the cover of darkness. The beginning piano chords are already starting, and someone rips off Kurt’s ear mic and pushes a handheld to his hand instead.

He puts it to his mouth, takes a deep breath, and tries to keep the clenching fear of an entire performance resting on his abilities, the cold shiver of his body, out of his voice.

 _“First I was afraid, I was petrified. Keep thinking I was never going to live without you by my side…”_ he starts.

As he reaches the platform’s apex, the lights flip on around him. His voice strengthens.

 _“I grew strong, I knew how to get along,”_ he sings.

 _“And now you’re back!”_ The Warblers join in. He can hear Sebastian’s midtone voice melding in with Nick’s higher one and Thad’s huskier voice, echoing each other.

The song speeds, breaks out into its disco rhythm, and he’s shimmying on stage, letting the lights catch on his glittering vest, letting his body and face and voice move with the triumph that he feels.

_“I used to cry, but now I hold my head up high. And you see me, somebody new.”_

And he’s singing, and the song is fun and kitschy but he chose it for a reason, and it might be a little too on the nose, but he hopes it reaches someone, somebody out there—

_“Did you think I’d crumble, did you think I’d lay down and die?”_

And he’s not just thinking about Karofsky, but about himself, about Sebastian, about his dad and Rachel and Mercedes and everyone who’s ever prevailed, as he sings. And this, this invincibility, this is why he fell in love with the stage, why he loves it still—

 _“I will survive,”_ he belts.

And the Warblers echo him.

 _“We will survive,”_ they harmonize.

And the stage plunges into darkness.

The audience roars up in applause.

He can hear whistles, wild shouts, what sounds like hundreds rising through their feet. The crowd’s going crazy, and he’s gasping for breath, but he can’t keep the grin off his face as the lights turn back on, and it’s absolutely fucking blinding.

The Warblers are standing there at the front of the stage, laughing and bowing, and Sebastian is turning back to him, the stage lights catching the blond in his hair and the green in his eyes, and he’s smiling so so broadly.

He cocks his head to one side and reaches out a hand up to Kurt, palm splayed wide.

And Kurt, Kurt hurdles down the center steps of the platform so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t fall, and he’s laughing and hot with joy as his hand grasps Sebastian’s, and then he has no idea who pulls whom, but he’s suddenly in Sebastian’s arms, and it’s almost a teammate hug but not, Kurt clutching tightly at Sebastian’s neck with one hand and his mic with the other, the roar of the crowd all around them.

“Not a bad performance, princess, ” Sebastian breathes into his ear, and Kurt shivers from the adrenaline.

“Yeah, am I a trueborn Warbler now?” Kurt teases.

He can feel Sebastian’s smirk forming against his cheek. “Like you have to ask,” he says, and before Kurt can do more than feel all the conversation threads running underneath, he’s pulling back, turning his body so that Kurt can see the audience, uniformly on their feet.

And then the moment between them breaks. Hunter pulls Sebastian farther forward, Trent tugs him into the crush of boys. He’s slapped on the back and hugged and leaned on, with too little attention paid to personal space. The crowd continues its standing ovation, as he looks at the bright laughing faces of his boys.

They raise $10,000 that night. David Karofsky comes and thanks them personally, and while Sebastian stands looking stoic and uncomfortable, he says that it was for all of them, not just Karofsky, and Kurt thinks Sebastian really means it. 

Kurt goes into the office the next day and cancels his transfer request back to McKinley for his senior year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing Glee has always done well is the song staging. Obviously, there's only so much I can do in text, but I hope you were able to imagine it. It was hellishly hard. I think I listened to these song performances, like, 50x times. I'm also not a music buff, so choosing songs is SO HARD.
> 
> The Warblers sing [Glad You Came](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IRzJrT43sDg) by The Wanted (which does actually happen in the show, sans Kurt, sadly).
> 
> Kurt's solo is [I Will Survive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBR2G-iI3-I) by the great Gloria Gaynor  
> 


	7. The Teenage Landmark (June, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When they’re just sitting in the car, silence will linger between them. Kurt will thinks about all the things they’ve told each other and the dwindling and very specific numbers of things they haven’t, and he’ll wonder what the airless feeling in his stomach is."
> 
> Kurt and Sebastian argue their way into being best friends, and a bit more. Everyone but them picks up on the tension.

**The Teenage Landmark (June, 2011)**

Kurt spends an inordinate amount of time with Sebastian now. There’s no point in denying it.

He’s become used to the sight of Sebastian’s dorm room, which is precisely like it should be, filled to the brim but organized within the clutter, smelling of Sebastian’s cologne and his reeking lacrosse stuff, as he passes by to grab Sebastian for food or to hang out there before practices or after practices. Sometimes the other Warblers join him, sometimes they don’t.

He even goes to Sebastian’s lacrosse games, because Sebastian is always a bitch after a loss, and this way he can at least have some prior notice. He spends the time split between texting his friends and family (who still can’t quite manage to hide their disappointment about his decision to stay at Dalton, even if Kurt feels in his guts that it’s the right choice), slathering on sunscreen, and trying to figure out if there’s some sort of point to the fucking violence of lacrosse. And he thought football was bad.

Sebastian always ignores his presence, except for the end. If it ends well, he’ll turn to where Kurt’s sitting, and he’ll grin, easy and confident, and sometimes Kurt gets dragged along to an after party with far too much alcohol and girls from God knows where. If it doesn’t end well, Sebastian will glare, and they’ll eventually end up at some fast food restaurant, and Sebastian will bitch about this or that player, and Kurt will pretend to understand.

Regardless, they head back together, so Kurt keeps on going.

They go to Scandals together again exactly once, on Kurt’s birthday at Kurt’s request for an “adventure”. The other Warblers, even Hunter, who Kurt swears had the best time of them all there last time, joined them for dinner and cake early in the evening but beg off the trip to Scandals.

Thirty minutes into the night, the cops decide to do a surprise sweep.

They almost manage to sneak out, but unfortunately Sebastian’s stupidly tall head and noticeable hair along with his alcohol intake get them caught with their fake IDs. Kurt’s almost in hysterics thinking about what his dad’s reaction is going to be by the time that Sebastian remembers he has a state attorney for a dad.

They leave the station after a call and a perfunctory warning in the back of Mr. Smythe’s car, the fake IDs confiscated and Sebastian forbidden by his dad (sitting silent in the front passenger seat, while his driver… well, drives) from entering Scandals again.

It’s definitely an adventure, if not the type Kurt was thinking of.

Kurt expects Sebastian to have a new fake ID the very next day. But he surprises Kurt, yet again.

Instead, he follows his dad’s rules, sticks to the school’s social scene, and Kurt’s bewildered but not complaining, because Sebastian spends even more time with Kurt afterwards. They’ve always seen each other at least once every two days, since they share the Warblers as a social circle, but now it’s _every day_ , with stupid text conversations and even more inane real-life conversations to break up the day’s tedium.

Kurt chalks it up to boredom and not having anything better to do and leaves it alone.

Finals come and go, and Kurt thanks God (and Sebastian, who made a surprisingly efficient tutor in basically every subject) for letting him survive it. Spring melds into summer, school ends, and he moves back home.

He practically gives himself an anxiety attack thinking about the way the summer would unravel his newfound friendships with the other Warblers (and particularly Sebastian, an annoying voice in the back of his head whispers).

But as it turns out, he should’ve told himself to stop being a drama queen, because even if he doesn’t see them as often as during school, he sees them plenty.

The thing is, they’re rich.

This means that after the first two weeks or so, where they all go off on family vacations in exotic locations (or, in Sebastian’s case, visiting friends and family in Paris), they spend the entire summer taking turns throwing parties at their houses, one after the other, and inviting Kurt to them all.

So he spends the weekdays at the Lima Bean and around town with his old McKinley friends, and on the weekends, he drives up or, more often, someone drives down, (mostly Sebastian, in a flashy silver car that screams too-rich-for-the-neighborhood, and Kurt has no idea how he got Kurt-babysitting duties, but Kurt saves on gas with the arrangement, so he doesn’t touch that either), and he’ll spend a day lazying around poolside or eating too much barbecue or mocking trash movies with Sebastian and the rest of them.

Sometimes, like when his dad opens the door for Sebastian for the third time that month and his mouth twists in an unhappy frown, or when Kurt and Sebastian are done mocking some poor character on screen (“Oh my God, tell me they didn’t intentionally foreshadow her mental breakdown with her makeup.” “Fuck the make-up, what the hell’s up with the lobotomy the writers just gave her boyfriend?” "Maybe his brain is broken, and that's why his Name changed. Twice." "Does that even happen in real life?" "Of course not. Ugh, Hollywood"), or when they’re just sitting in the car, silence will linger between them. Kurt will thinks about all the things they’ve told each other and the dwindling and very specific numbers of things they haven’t, and he’ll wonder what the airless feeling in his stomach is.

One night, midway through the summer, he’s waving goodbye to Sebastian and letting himself into his house when he sees a shadow, sitting still at the front of the kitchen table in the darkness.

Kurt can’t help it, he just got talked into seeing his first horror movie (“to celebrate the summer,” Hunter said. He should’ve known, the ass). He shrieks.

A door slams open and footsteps are pounding up the steps, and in three seconds flat, Sebastian’s grasping his arm and wheezing at his side.

“What’s wrong?” he huffs out.

“Welcome home,” a voice he recognizes as his dad’s comes from the shadow, utterly calm, like sitting in the dark alone in the kitchen at this hour of night is perfectly natural.

Sebastian lets go of his arm.

Kurt looks anxiously at Sebastian, and Sebastian looks back.

Sebastian smirks.

“I didn’t do anything,” he mouths indignantly at Sebastian. Sebastian continues to smirk.

“I didn’t! I’m not you!” Kurt whispers-insists.

“You can tell Smythe to leave and turn on the light, Kurt,” his dad says. Oh, fuck, that’s his serious voice.

“Okay,” he says, a little too shrill. He flips on the lights and pushes Sebastian out of the house, until they’re standing just before the threshold of the door.

“Good luck, princess,” Sebastian says, a little too gleeful. Kurt shoots him a dirty look, and then a nervous one back at where his dad is waiting.

“Go away,” he says, as he attempts to smooth down his clothes. He covertly sniffs himself, just to make sure the smell of alcohol’s not lingering anywhere on his body—the other boys usually drink, but not Kurt, because his dad has a nose for these things, and not Sebastian, because he drives Kurt back—

“Hey,” Sebastian says, half-turned, like he can’t decide whether he wants to walk or stay, “Text me, all right?”

Kurt stops sniffing himself and looks up.

“Okay,” he says, can’t help grinning at Sebastian even if he still has no idea what he’s done to deserve a “talking-to” from his dad.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, doing a backwards wave as he ambles back to his car.

Kurt takes a deep breath and re-enters. He smiles nervously at his dad, who is still sitting motionless in one of the kitchen chair.

“Hi, dad,” he says, “Where’s Carole and Finn?”

“Sleeping,” he says. “You came back pretty late.”

Oh. So that was it.

“I’m sorry, the party just went on a little later than usual, but I texted you to let you know—”

“Sit, Kurt,” his dad says.

He shuts up and sits.

“We probably should have had this conversation a long time ago… I was planning to wait until your Name manifests, but I figured it was probably time,” his dad begins.

Nearly thirty minutes later, Kurt goes up to his room, completely embarrassed and possibly scarred for life and with no idea how to even _begin_ analyzing what just happened.

The moment he’s in his room, he’s pulling out his phone and composing a text—obviously, Sebastian knows it’s unlikely to be anything big, but the boy’s surprisingly and frighteningly neurotic.

_To: Meerkat_

_All clear._

He replies immediately, which is no surprise to Kurt—now, anyway. If someone told Kurt a couple months ago Sebastian’s capable of waiting by the phone for anything and anybody, he would’ve laughed in their face, but since then, he’s seen that if it’s important enough to Seb… he’ll go to any lengths, and then try twice as hard to hide his efforts.

_Meerkat_

_What? No details? No dramatic ultimatums, no life threats, no explosive emotions even?_

_To: Meerkat_

_I told u I didn’t do anything!_

_To: Meerkat_

_And of course not it’s my dad._

_Meerkat_

_Exactly._

_To: Meerkat_

_Ahahaha. Make the drama queen jokes v. original._

_Meerkat_

_One has got to wonder, if there’s a pattern…._

_Also, I notice you’re still avoiding the question…._

Ugh. Kurt’s not sure how to tell Sebastian that at seventeen, he’s finally gotten the sex talk from dad. Sebastian, who lost his virginity when he was barely thirteen, would probably laugh himself sick. Doubly so if Kurt told him that, according to his dad, The Talk had been originally slated for nearer to Kurt’s eighteenth birthday, and his dad had been dutifully “preparing,” before the statistics about teenagers having sex pre-Name had prompted him to push up his plans.

His phone lights up. Apparently he’s waited too long.

_Meerkat_

_You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to._

Kurt blinks. Sebastian, _not_ pushing?

_To: Meerkat_

_No, thats not it. Theres not much I wouldn’t trust you—_

Fuck, that was too honest. Backspace. Backspace.

_To: Meerkat_

_No, thats not it. I just thought ud laugh. Which u will. So I guess theres no point in me asking u not to. And if I dont tell u ur overactive imagination would prob make up crazy theories._

_Meerkat_

_You know me so well. Except I think you meant brilliant mind. Spill._

_To: Meerkat_

_My dad gave me the talk._

Pause. Kurt’s starting to fidget by the time his phone goes off again.

_Meerkat_

_I’m sorry, I accidentally dropped my phone while clutching my stomach, it was hurting so much from laughing._

_To: Meerkat_

_I love how ur defying expectations there._

_Meerkat_

_You know it._

God knows, Kurt does. He can’t help laughing at the silliness of it as he throws himself on his bed. He feels like a normal teenage boy, embarrassed by his dad, going through the normal life landmarks like The Sex Talk, and texting—Well. Texting.

_Meerkat_

_How was it?_

_To: Meerkat_

_I’m seventeen, and my v. straight dad was trying to give me sex safety advice in bw talking about respect and healthy relationships and trying to refrain from telling me to abstain until I’m old and married. What do u think?_

_Meerkat_

_So lower on the scale of embarrassing than a “Here’s a box of condoms, and lube. Yada yada I noticed you were eying that pretty boy Lucas, he’s gay don’t worry, yada yada. Oh, Sebastian, sex is wonderful, when it’s good it’s even more intoxicating than the best wines from the orchard.”_

Kurt has to read that super long text twice, just to understand. Then once again to verify that yes, that was _Seb’s_ sex talk, bless his mère. And then a fourth time, just so that he could laugh himself hoarse. 

He’s still chuckling as he types out a response. 

_To: Meerkat_

_Lower. Definitely lower. And if u couldn’t read that pause I was laughing at u. Also, that explains a lot._

_Meerkat_

_Fuck you._

_To: Meerkat_

_u wish._

Fuck. No. Backspace. Backspace. If Sebastian thinks Kurt is _flirting—_ and please, as if Kurt would _ever_ —he’d think _relationship_ and run for the winds.

_To: Meerkat_

_What, swearing already? Am I too good for ur comebacks to handle?_

_Meerkat_

_More like it’s way too late for me to expend the effort. Why the fuck do you live so far away?_

_To: Meerkat_

_Because I was born poor. Duh._

_Meerkat_

_Oh. Right. It’s easy to forget, what with your expensive moisturizing routine._

_To: Meerkat_

_Excuse me, you should be thanking it for my porcelain skin. Without it, u wouldnt be able to call me princess._

_Meerkat_

_Oh. Right. Well, there’s always Gayface._

Kurt laughs again. He types out a couple of responses, deletes them all, thinks, scrolls back to Sebastian’s text about _his_ sex talk, and can’t help giggling as he re-reads it.

_To: Meerkat_

_Thanks, Meerkat._

Sebastian, of course, doesn’t ask, “for what.”

_Meerkat_

_Night, Princess._

Kurt goes to sleep that night smiling, and puts the conversation out of his mind as an embarrassing but ultimately harmless memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BURT. I love Burt SO much. Mwahahahahaha. He knows something our boys don't.
> 
> I also totally do not buy Sebastian the Ice Queen characterization. That is one boy with literally zero chill, considering the overly dramatic way he responds to Blaine's rejection and Kurt and just everything, even if he pretends he's Too. Cool. For. School. Classic teenage boy, ugh, I like writing his face so much.
> 
> Also I suck at AO3 so let me know if someone knows of a better way to format our stupid text sequences. If I were a better author I'd mock up text pictures.


	8. The Pressure of Rich Boys (August, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sebastian comes closer to Kurt, his hair mussed and his cheek red from where Kurt assumes it’s been pressed against a pillow. He’s in his boxers and a tight undershirt, and oh God, he’s close enough that Kurt can make out his nipples, pointed from the cold air of the kitchen. Kurt’s mouth waters, and he thinks someone up there hates him."
> 
> Everyone gets with the program way before Sebastian and Kurt does—and then suddenly, they're there, and Kurt makes a decision, eyes wide-open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for those not expecting it so far given the strong T-ness of what came before, but this fic finally earns that Explicit tag I gave it at the beginning. Sorry for the wait folks, it's still not going to be awfullyyyy explicit (though I do have some plans moving forward). 
> 
> Nothing particularly triggery, except maybe Alcoholic Influence (but strongly in the realm of enthusiastic consent, and Seb being very respectful).

**The Pressure of Rich Boys (August, 2011)**

They’re sprawled out on the grass, in the back lawn of Sebastian’s house. Kurt’s feeling pleasantly full, watching the way the light moves along the surface of the pool.

“These lights are awesome,” he hears Hunter slur, and Kurt giggles. He’s glad his choice was proven right. He’d pressured Sebastian to put them up ever since their last party here, when he had realized what a _travesty_ it was that such a great entertaining space wasn’t even properly equipped with the lighting for it.  

“Yeah, well, thank Princess over there. Apparently he’s actually quite handy around the house,” Sebastian drawls. He chugs the rest of his solo cup, and when he upends it and a sad single drop fall onto the lush grass, pouts. His lower lip glistens in the dim light.

“I’m a mechanic’s son,” Kurt points out, smiling beatifically. “Unlike you.”

Sebastian simultaneously scowls and winces, as if he can still feel the bruise he got from accidentally hammering himself. Kurt laughs at him.

He feels light as air. He knows that’s partially because of the alcohol he’s imbibed already, because tonight is one of the rare nights he’s gotten permission from his dad to stay over (Not that his dad was very happy with it, especially after he heard the party this week was at Sebastian’s house. Kurt has no idea what Sebastian’s done to piss off his dad—although he supposes his general reputation and unpopularity among New Directions might be enough).

He also knows it’s mostly because this summer has been the most perfect he’s ever had. It makes tonight all the more bittersweet, because the night air is cool, and summer is undeniably winding down. There are only a couple more weeks before they head back to Dalton.

Today’s party, at Sebastian’s house, is the last.

Kurt doesn’t know if he’s ever been this happy, and he’s afraid this height of happiness is something he can never climb back up to.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Hunter says suddenly, picking up an empty vodka bottle from the ground. 

Drunken hollers of agreement greet Hunter’s proclamation. 

Sebastian looks halfway between annoyed and indulgent, but he nudges Kurt with an elbow until he groggily sits up and joins the circle of boys on the flagstone patio, next to Sebastian.

“All right, person who spins poses the challenge or question. Person the bottle points to answers. Easy-peasy. If you don’t get it, you’re an idiot,” Hunter says, as he places the empty bottle in the middle on the circle.

Kurt frowns.

“Wait, hold on, isn’t this the set-up for ‘spin the bottle’? The kissing game?”

Hunter points at Kurt—or tries to—he drunkenly tilts towards Sebastian instead. “What’d I say about idiots, man?” he says.

Wes rolls his eyes and tugs Hunter roughly down onto the flagstone and next to him in the circle. His ass makes a hard sound as it hits the flagstone, and Kurt giggles. He hopes it hurts tomorrow.

“I’ll go first!” Nick says, reaching for the bottle and spinning it enthusiastically.

Sebastian’s leaning over and whispering, “Have you never played this before?”

Kurt shrugs. “No, actually. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. Especially after my mom died,” he says, quiet and a little too honest.

Sebastian smiles at him. He looks back at the circle. “Yeah, me neither. Not after I moved to Paris, anyway. And the boys I was with weren’t into games.” He pauses. “Not _these_ games anyway.”

He leans back on a hand. The bottle’s landed on David, who looks horrified at Nick’s request that he do a strip dance and ruin his _gravitas_. “I went to middle school with most of these idiots, before then,” Sebastian says.

Kurt subtly presses his arm against Sebastian’s.

The boys roar, suddenly, and Kurt turns back to watch in amusement as a couple of drunk Warblers in acapella croon out a song distinctly smacking of “strip tease.” David, cringing but game, starts thrusting and swaying his hips, slowly working off his shirt. Kurt’s actually impressed, both by David and the boys who are managing to carry a tune while drunk to the heavens.

“Huh. You think he does it for his girlfriend?” Sebastian asks, looking on intently.

Kurt rolls his eyes and slaps him lightly on the shoulder, even though he’s following the movement of David’s hips with just as much idle interest.

But when David’s down to his boxers and the boys are still catcalling, “Take it off! Take it off!”, David begs off between big gulping laughs. He gathers his clothes and retreats back to the circle’s fringes to put them back on. The boys, including Sebastian and Kurt, whistle and clap. Kurt's smile is wide enough that his cheeks hurt.

 “I’m next,” Hunter declares. Everyone collectively roll their eyes, but they let him. He sways towards the bottle, and gives it a hard spin. It turns and turns and turns, slowing down at Kurt… and onto Sebastian.

 “Sebbie!” Hunter says, delighted.

Kurt’s inexplicably annoyed at the nickname, especially when Sebastian just looks at Hunter in amusement and says, “Yes, Hunter?”

 “Truth or dare?” Hunter asks cheerfully.

 "Dare,” Sebastian says without pausing.

“Hmmmm….” Hunter says, but his eyes have that gleam in them, and Kurt knows he’s already decided what it is he wants.

Kurt tenses.

“In honor of the previous question, I dare you…” Hunter says, slowly, “… to kiss one of us.”

His eyes flit for just a second towards Kurt.

Kurt stills.

And so, too, do all the Warblers. Trent kneels up and makes to move, but Wes puts a hand on Trent’s shoulder, though he’s also looking at Hunter with slit eyes.

Kurt doesn’t know what Sebastian’s reaction is, because he can’t bear to look.

“Okay,” Sebastian says, easily.

And for a wild second, Kurt’s mind short-circuits.

He thinks madly, that Sebastian just agreed to kiss him, that he’s going to turn right this moment and press his lips to Kurt’s.

But then Sebastian is unfolding his limbs and languorously rising from the grass, and Kurt knows suddenly, where this is going. He can see Sebastian’s smile, daring and dangerous; Hunter’s disappointed face morphing into an impressed expression, as he stands right there, his eyes trained on Sebastian; the Warblers relaxing back in their spot, some of them even starting to catcall.

Sebastian reaches Hunter and smirks, and Hunter returns it. Seb rolls his eyes, but steadies Hunter’s face with both hands, and then he’s leaning in and— _no, no, no no no. That’s wrong,_ Kurt’s mind screams, and Kurt’s scrambling up from the grass and into the middle of the circle.

He grabs Sebastian’s shirt with one hand, turns Sebastian’s head by the neck roughly by the other, and smashes their lips together, his eyes opened wide and registering the look of shock on Sebastian’s face.

Before the look can fade, Kurt’s already letting him go and taking a couple of steps back, breathing harshly and pressing shaking fingers to his lips. The entire circle is motionless, though he catches plenty of expressions best described as the bastardized child of delighted and horrified. Hunter looks amused. Sebastian is just blinking at him, blinking, blinking.

“Right. Dare accomplished.” Kurt says. He gives a weak laugh, which turns a little shrill at the end.

“I, I think I’m drunk,” he says inanely.

Sebastian is still looking at him.

But Trent—Thank God for kind, sweet Trent—is stepping forward, clapping him by the shoulder and steering him gently towards the house. Kurt stumbles after him. Behind him, he hears David and Wes, having apparently taken control and alternating between reprimanding Hunter and ordering the rest to clean up.

Trent and he make their way through the house and up to Kurt’s single guestroom, because Sebastian’s house is ginormous like that, and Trent looks everywhere but at Kurt.

“I’m drunk,” Kurt says again.

“Right, yeah,” Trent says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Kurt wants to laugh hysterically, except he’s not sure why. It feels like it’s his first kiss, which on some level makes some sense, as his previous experience consists solely of Mercedes and Dave Karofsky, neither of which really counted; but on another level, no sense at all, because _those_ kisses had actually lasted longer and with more contact than the one Kurt had just had with Sebastian. Or, forced onto him, to be more precise. He wonders if Sebastian feels the same way Kurt did, after Karofsky kissed him, and oh God, Kurt feels terrible.

Trent seems to be able to read it on his face. He pats Kurt on the back again.

“Don’t worry about it, Kurt,” he says, “I mean, Sebastian was willing to kiss Hunter, so he probably doesn’t care much about the kiss.”

Apparently Kurt’s expression doesn’t react the way he expects, because he adds hastily, “How it happened anyway. I mean, I’m sure he cares it’s you, we’ve all been waiting ages—” Kurt stares at him, feeling too drunk again“—I’m going to shut up now,” Trent peters out.

Kurt doesn’t disagree.

They part at the guestroom’s door and Kurt lets himself in with a heavy sigh. He moves through his routine as quickly as possible, looking forward to when he can just burrow his head into the pillow and let the alcohol lull him into a carefree sleep.

But when he’s finally in bed, every trace of his alcohol-induced haze seems to have evaporated, and he’s left twisting in bed, unable to shut off his head. He’s a fucking idiot who shouldn’t have done what he did, and he still has no idea why he even did it.

No, that’s a lie, he _does_ know, but it’s stupid, and _he’s_ stupid, because it’s obviously not going to work out, because Sebastian’s Sebastian and Kurt’s Kurt and for God’s sake, their _Names_ haven’t even manifested, Kurt has no idea what the fuck he was thinking. Everyone knows pre-name relationships are a recipe for disaster and heartbreak.

Not that they’re going to get anywhere near a relationship, of course, because, well.

And now they’re back to the whole Sebastian being Sebastian issue.

Kurt tosses and turns as he thinks. He doesn’t know how best to react to Sebastian tomorrow. Maybe he won’t remember and they can go on like usual.

Kurt could apologize, right? But wouldn’t that make it more awkward? And Kurt would have to lie, because he might regret the kiss but he doesn’t regret stopping Hunter from kiss Sebastian, because. Ugh. Hunter  

He ignores the voice that tells him it’s not the Hunter part that’s the issue, but the Sebastian kissing someone else part that’s the problem.

An hour later, he throws back the blankets, sweaty and frustrated, thoughts still smothering him, and stomps down the hallway and into the kitchen.

The water he pours himself feels blissful pressed to his cheek and down his parched throat, and he gulps it down gratefully as he drops into a kitchen chair.

The problem is… The problem is that Sebastian is like his fucking house.

Kurt laughs bitterly, because he can remember the way this house felt, the first time he walked into it, cold and grand and foreign and absolutely dead. But now lights he’s helped installed are out in the patio, and Kurt knows all the rooms, can greet Mr. Smythe warmly and navigate all the cabinets and point people to where the Smythes store the alcohol and warn them away from the family heirlooms.

The house is still big. Still lavish. But it feels warm now. Familiar. Beloved.  

Sebastian has in less than a year so enmeshed himself in Kurt’s life that he can’t imagine it without him in it anymore, doesn’t want to. And it doesn’t make any sense and it hasn’t been easy, but it’s the truth.

“Hey there, Princess. Thinking hard?” a voice says, and Kurt whips his head up, barely managing to not shatter the glass in his grip as he stares up into Sebastian’s amused face.

For the first time since they’ve met, he has absolutely no response.

Sebastian comes closer to Kurt, his hair mussed and his cheek red from where Kurt assumes it’s been pressed against a pillow. He’s in his boxers and a tight undershirt, and oh _God_ , he’s close enough that Kurt can make out his nipples, pointed from the cold air of the kitchen. Kurt’s mouth waters, and he thinks someone up there hates him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Seb asks.

Kurt manages to move his tongue at last.

“No,” he says, and he sounds hoarse even to his own ears.

“Me neither,” Sebastian says.

And then he’s tilting Kurt up and leaning in, and Kurt is surging forward to meet him. Their lips smash together horribly, they’re too frantic, but then Sebastian turns his head and adjusts Kurt’s own with an idle hand, and that has no right to be as hot as it actually is, and the kiss turns, oh God, the kiss turns _perfect_ , so perfect it takes Kurt’s breath away.

Sebastian is backing Kurt up, and before Kurt realizes it, he’s flush against the refrigerator, the stainless steel cool against his back and Sebastian blazing against his front. Sebastian’s tongue is pressing for entrance, and Kurt has no idea what he’s doing, but he opens, and it’s so slick and messy, and Kurt’s seen kisses on T.V., has surreptitiously watched porn and then completely wiped his computer’s memory for fear of being caught out by his dad, but nothing had prepared him for this. He didn’t think kisses could be this intense, has no idea if they’re all like this or if only Sebastian’s are.

Kurt pushes his tongue blindly into Sebastian’s mouth, trying to respond to Sebastian’s passion with his own, but suddenly Sebastian’s pulling back. Kurt’s head follows him instinctively, but he can feel Sebastian smile against his lips, the bastard. Seb nips reproachfully at Kurt’s bottom lip, and he stills.

Then and only then, apparently satisfied, does Sebastian tease Kurt’s lips open again, firmly sliding his tongue into Kurt’s mouth like it belongs there. They kiss for another beat, two, and Kurt’s feeling pleasantly lost in a warm haze again when Seb winds their tongues together and sensuously, lazily, coaxes Kurt’s into his own mouth again.

Kurt suddenly realizes Sebastian is _giving him a practical demonstration on kissing_ , and has to concentrate not to come on the spot.

This task becomes impossibly harder in the next moment, when Sebastian presses a knee between Kurt’s legs, which fall apart of their own accord, and Oh. Now they’re perfectly aligned from head to toe. He can feel Sebastian hot and heavy against him, and he’s the first person Kurt has ever been this close to, and Kurt will dare absolutely fucking anyone to feel that _amazing_ heat and not make the little upward thrust that he makes with his hips.

Sebastian groans, this sexy little noise that Kurt swallows with his next breath.

He winds both hands into Sebastian’s hair, and Sebastian puts one hand on Kurt’s lower back and the other on his ass, and they pull each other impossibly closer, their kiss unbroken. Sebastian pushes against him, and the friction is _so fucking good_ , and Kurt pushes back, and they kiss and push and kiss and push. Kurt breaks away to give a horrifying little whine

Sebastian takes that as cue to move from his lips to his neck. He attacks with ferocious energy, and Kurt gasps, leaning back and baring his neck for him. He looks up at the ceiling, watching the kitchen lights shatter, starting to feel the tell-tale shiver up his spine. He has no idea why he was stopping himself from this, it was such a great idea, he can’t wait to tease Sebastian tom—

He suddenly remembers. Why he couldn’t sleep, why he was worried, why he wasn’t going to let himself take this step no matter how much every inch of him yearned.

He frantically pushes Sebastian away with both hands, biting his lips and forcing back the orgasm that was just out of his reach. It fucking physically hurts, he finally gets the meaning of blue balls.

Sebastian stops immediately. He goes, reluctant and bewildered.

He’s standing two steps from Kurt, and that’s close, but not as close as Kurt’s body wants him and—Kurt tells his body firmly to _be quiet_ because it’s the least of his concerns right now.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asks, his eyes flicking around on Kurt’s face, as if he can read the reason there.

“I—we shouldn’t do this—“ Kurt says, and he sounds unconvincing even to himself. “You’re drunk—I’m drunk—we haven’t thought this through—"

“I’ve thought it through hundreds of times,” Sebastian says huskily, and Kurt shivers.

“I. Yeah. Me. Me too,” he admits reluctantly, to both Sebastian and himself. He remembers how whichever model he’s picked for that night would always morph, on the border between arousal and orgasm, into a familiar figure with brown-blond hair and sharp green eyes and a glinting smirk. “But that’s not a reason to do it.”

“I’m not drunk. And you’re not either. Are you?” Sebastian says.

Kurt shakes his head _no_ , because he’s feeling entirely wide-awake in Sebastian’s presence.

“I want this. You want this. And now that I know that, I can’t pretend I don’t. We’ve both thought about it and we’re both sober enough to make the decision. What’s the problem?” Sebastian asks. He rakes his hands up and down Kurt’s sides, and fuck, Kurt can’t think when he does that. He had a legitimate reason, he knows—

“The problem is tomorrow,” he says finally, triumphantly, “The problem is what’s this is going to be, between us, afterwards. What it’s going to be after we turn eighteen.

Sebastian leans in and his eyes glimmer, audacious and reckless with emotions so messy and dark Kurt has no chance of deciphering but feels himself answering anyway.

“Whatever we want it to be,” he whispers.

And then he’s latching back onto Kurt’s lips.

Kurt’s resolve, weak even before, crumbles entirely.

He wraps himself tight around Sebastian and lets Sebastian devours him, lets his own wild emotions pour into the desperate clutch of hands and lips.

Sebastian turns his head after awhile. He breathes out against Kurt’s cheek, “Bed.”

Kurt nods and nods and pulls Sebastian frantically towards Sebastian’s bedroom, which he knows is closer. They’re not letting go of each other, and so the move there is slow and awkward, but finally, finally, Kurt’s turning the doorknob and they’re falling into the room and onto the bed. The door closes behind them with a bang, but Sebastian’s already put his mouth back to good use and Kurt doesn’t give a damn.

“Off,” Sebastian says against his lips, as he tries to simultaneously tug Kurt’s undershirt up and his briefs down, and Kurt’s nodding again. He’s leaning back to tug off his shirt when his dad pops into his head.

It’s horrendous timing, and would kill his erection if he weren’t so gone already. He sees his dad in his head, standing next to him at the very end of their talk, staring so seriously into his eyes as he spoke that Kurt thought his dad must’ve been trying to brand his words into Kurt’s brain by sheer force of will.

 _“But when you’re ready, I want you to use it as a way to connect with another person,”_ his dad had said.

He gets it, suddenly. What the conversation earlier in the summer was about. What his dad foresaw that ended up hitting Kurt like a bulldozer.

“Kurt?” Sebastian asks. Kurt’s dad dissipates, and he refocuses on Sebastian’s face, the downturned tilt of his lips. He sounds hesitant now, for the first time since they saw each other in the kitchen. “Do you want to stop? Because we can.”

Kurt looks at Sebastian, lips kissed red and swollen, his face etched with concern, and he thinks about all the dreams he used to have, about a first night with a steady boyfriend after months of flirting and _courting_. The room would’ve been filled with candles and rose petals, soft music playing in the background.

But Kurt knows.

He knows he’s ready now, and this is the person he wants it with.

He shakes his head, pulls off his shirt, pulls off his briefs too while he’s at it.

He thinks he hears Sebastian’s breath catch, he’s not entirely sure, because Sebastian is bracketing Kurt’s body with his legs and hands and kissing his breath away again.

And then he’s sliding down Kurt’s body, and Kurt thinks he knows where this is going, but it still doesn’t prepare him for the dry hand that’s just a little bit bigger than his wrapping around him firmly, the first touch of somebody other than himself and his doctor, and he thinks he’s in heaven.

Until something hot and slick swipes up him, from root to tip, and _Oh, God,_ he thinks.

 _“Don’t throw yourself around, like you don’t matter. ‘Cause you matter, Kurt,”_ he hears his dad say tenderly in his head, and he can’t help laughing at how absurd but rightly-timed the echo is, because Sebastian’s touching him right now with so much gentleness.

It’s funny, because Kurt knows about all the boys he’s been with, knows just where his confidence in bed comes from, but he doesn’t care, because Sebastian is looking at and touching him with so much reverence that Kurt believes with his whole heart that right now, just like the only person that Kurt could be here like this with is Sebastian, the only person that Sebastian could be here like this with is Kurt.

Surely this is what his dad meant, about being cherished, about connecting.

Sebastian is still licking, and Kurt is starting to make all these inane moans. He’s never felt so out-of-control and _free_ before in his life, helpless in Sebastian’s hands. He bites down hard on his forearm, remembering the other Warblers down the hall.

Sebastian notices, of course he does.

He looks up at Kurt, and Kurt looks down at him, and then Sebastian _grins._ He presses Kurt’s hips back onto the bed firmly with both hands, ducks, and takes the entire head into his mouth.

Kurt loses all control—he throws his arm back and shouts himself hoarse.

He can practically feel Sebastian smiling around the cock in his mouth, as he, well, shows off. He does all these _tricks._ These patterns with his tongue, the way he’ll sometimes just pause and hold, the way he’ll hum and swallow around Kurt until Kurt makes these sounds, the way he’ll move up and down and then down down down until it’s so tight that Kurt thinks he’s going to die, and most of all, the way he’ll pop off at the _very last fucking moment and won’t let Kurt come._

“Seb, Seb,” Kurt begs, finally. “Come on, Seb, please.” Because if he takes any more of this he’s going to faint.

“Already?” Seb says, smirking from where he’s perched between Kurt’s legs with his spit-slicked lips, unbearably sexy. His right hand continues their slide up and down. “So soon? It hasn’t even been 5 minutes.”

Kurt can’t help it, he throws his hand blindly back and chucks the first pillow he latches onto at Sebastian’s head.

“I’m a virgin, you asshole!” he yells. “Stop fucking _laughing_ , you bastard! You can play some other time, get to the fucking point, what are you even—Oh God, oh fuck”—he falls back down on the bed and tries his best to not thrash uncontrollably, because Seb does stop laughing, and throws himself back into it like he’s suddenly discovered he’s starving.

“Seb, Seb, Oh God, _Seb,_ ” Kurt sobs, his throat now too hoarse to shout. “I—I can’t, Seb, oh, ah, ah ah—ah hah—“

He can’t get anything articulate out, but Sebastian gets it, there’s suddenly a thumb rubbing at the crease between his hip and thigh, coaxing, gentle, permission. Kurt sobs out a final, “ _Seb_ ,” and comes hard, shuddering again and again and again, into the wet heat of Sebastian’s mouth.

When he comes too, Sebastian is leaning over the bedside table, grimacing and pulling out three four tissues from the box and pressing them to his mouth. Kurt looks on dazedly, wondering what the fuck Sebastian is doing and why he’s not lying down right next to Kurt, until—

“You can’t swallow!” Kurt croaks out, just a tad too gleeful, still coasting the high of his orgasm and delighted to discover that yes, there is something sexual Sebastian is bad at.

“Oh fuck you, it’s not like I do this often without a condom,” he snipes back, chucking the tissues down onto the floor and throwing himself down onto the bed.

He’s pouting a little, and it’s adorable, and Kurt can’t help sliding over and into his warmth, even though he’s almost a hundred percent sure Sebastian Smythe doesn’t cuddle.

He kisses Sebastian’s lips, soft and sweet. “Thank you,” Kurt whispers. Because that was his first time, and Sebastian knew it, and it may not have been the romantic first he envisioned, but it was sexy and fun and kind, and the warm feeling that’s suffusing every limb of Kurt’s body is exactly as he envisioned it would be.

He pulls backs after a moment and licks his lips. There’s something salty on it, a tang. Belatedly, he realizes that’s his own come.

His cock gives a hard jerk, and he groans because it hurts—he’s seventeen, not inhuman.

Sebastian smirks, correctly reading Kurt, and he leans in for an open-mouthed kiss that Kurt thinks ought to gross him out but that he falls into enthusiastically instead.

When their lips finally separate, he can feel Sebastian rubbing up and down his thigh, hard and hot. Kurt takes a leaf from Sebastian’s book and sucks on Sebastian’s lower lip.

“What do you want me to do?” he breathes against his mouth.

Sebastian takes a shuddering breath, and Kurt doesn’t know whether he feels more powerful or more enchanted right now.

“Hands,” Sebastian says, “Hands are the easiest.” He climbs up and between Kurt’s legs as he pulls off his boxers, and getting it, Kurt hurriedly raises himself up and against the bedframe, so that Sebastian can slot right in, his back to Kurt’s front.

From this vantage point, it’s easy to look down, so Kurt lets himself, his hands tight around Sebastian’s waist. He does a mental comparison and realizes that yes, Sebastian’s reputation is definitely deserved.

“Are you going to touch it, or are you going to keep on looking?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt takes a sharp breath. He makes to touch it, but Seb intercepts his hands and brings it to his mouth instead.

“Not yet,” he whispers, and then he gives a broad lick up Kurt’s palm, and if he keeps that up, Kurt is going to be hard again in no time.

“There,” Sebastian says, and he puts their hands together and bring them both down on his cock. He moves Kurt’s hand with his own once, up, down, and then leaves Kurt to his own devices. “Like that. Like you do to yourself, but— _Ah_ —not.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, because that’s very instructive. But he does as he’s told by Sebastian, just this once. It really is like masturbating, but not really. Sebastian feels different in his hand—a different size and tilt and color and even shape, a little. He moves up, down, up, down, his eyes following the hypnotizing movement.

Sebastian is breathing hot and heavy. Sometimes he angles their heads together for a breathless kiss, but mostly he just makes these insanely distracting groans against Kurt’s neck, and Kurt almost wishes he could push Sebastian’s head away, so that he could hear them ring out in the room, rich and unmuffled.

Kurt twists his hand at the end, because _he_ likes that, and Sebastian give a little thrust, groaning. Kurt does it again, and Sebastian is starting to tremble against him, his breaths coming out in pants, and Kurt knows he’s close.

He kisses Sebastian hungrily, thinking about what it is that throws _him_ over the edge, and. His left hand slides from where it’s smoothing along the lines of Sebastian’s abs down down, past his right hand to cup Sebastian’s balls. Sebastian makes an incoherent noise into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt kisses back harder, slides even farther back.

He presses two fingers just behind, hard, as his hands give another twist, and that’s it, Sebastian’s breaking away and rolling his eyes back, his face scrunched up in ecstatic pain, gasping out a breathless “ _Fuck.”_

Sebastian thrusts up again and again through Kurt’s lax fist, and there’s something wet sliding all down Kurt’s hand, and Kurt would feel bad about forgetting to coax him through the rest of his orgasm except he’s too busy searing the sight of Sebastian in this moment into his brain.

By the time that Sebastian’s done and catching his breath, Kurt’s no longer staring dazedly at Sebastian with his mouth open. He recovers enough to grab some tissues and dab at his hands and Sebastian as best as he can, and then throws them off the side of the bed to deal with in the morning.

The room reeks of sex _,_ Kurt thinks, awed.

But now that clean-up is done, Kurt isn’t sure what to do with himself.

He doesn’t feel _awkward_ exactly, but he feels uncertain, and it stands in sharp contrast to how _natural_ and _easy_ what they just did was. He doesn’t know what the correct behavior is, if he should stay or leave, and he doesn’t exactly think Sebastian would kick him out, but—

Sebastian pulls his heavy and sticky self off of Kurt, and throws his briefs at his chest. “You should probably put that on again, sleeping naked with someone else is actually pretty fucking awkward,” he says, “Not to mention being caught naked in bed by someone else. I’d rather avoid the possibility, if you don’t mind.”

He nods, relieved, and obediently puts his briefs back on. On the other side of the bed, Sebastian is doing the same, stripping off his sweat-soaked undershirt and putting back on his boxers. He’s gorgeous and bronze in the glow of the outdoor lights, and Kurt feels lust rolling through him again, but it’s lazy and comfortable, post-coital. He pulls the blankets up around him and makes room for Sebastian in bed.

When they’re lying side-by-side, not cuddling but not very far apart, close enough that Kurt can practically feel the heat radiating off of Sebastian, he looks and looks at the back of Sebastian’s neck and hears the rest of his dad’s words repeat in his head.

 _“You know, it’s doing to something… to you, to your heart, to your self-esteem,”_ his dad's echo murmurs in his head, again.

“Go to sleep,” Sebastian gripes, his voice strangely loud in the hazy darkness. “I know I just blew your virgin mind—literally—but I can feel your stare, and it’s fucking creepy. The earlier you go to sleep, the earlier you can get a repeat."

Kurt pushes at Sebastian’s back in retaliation, but not very hard, and he ends up with his hands resting against Sebastian’s back, letting its rise and fall lull him. When he closes his eyes, he feels Sebastian’s touch staining his skin and the truth of his dad’s words sinking into his bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo—*blushing*—this is my first explicit scene, and apparently fic has been really instructive because I didn't have to look up anything. By the same token, it may or may not be at all accurate to how real sex works. But enjoy it, because I embarrassed myself writing it. Let me know your thoughts, I'm SUPER nervous about this chapter!
> 
> Burt's speech is actually lifted directly from the show, though of course he wasn't referring to Sebastian on Glee.


	9. Everything After (August, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They still go to practices, to games, to parties together, still hang out in Sebastian’s room before and after and whenever else they have downtime—only now, in between study sessions and musical brainstorm sessions and conversation sessions and vegetating sessions, Kurt learns from Sebastian the fine art of gay sex and Sebastian learns Kurt’s body and how to best make him insane."
> 
> Sebastian and Kurt continue to be best friends, except they sleep together now, and that manages to change nothing at all and also everything.

**Everything After (August, 2011)**

He doesn’t get his promised repeat in the morning.

Sebastian’s alarm goes off at seven, because Sebastian says he’s a dedicated athlete and Kurt says he’s masochistic. Kurt wakes up to the sight of Sebastian’s shoulders flexing as he reaches over to swat at the alarm. His head is throbbing angrily at him, but it’s still a wonderful morning.

It gets even better when Sebastian turns back and catches his eyes. Both their breaths seem to catch for a moment, and then Sebastian is leaning into him, smooth and easy, and Kurt arches back as Sebastian scores his neck.

“I’d give you a good-morning kiss,” Sebastian says, his morning voice low and hoarse, “but something tells me you’re the type to queen out over morning breath."

Kurt lets out a breathless laugh, but doesn’t correct him, because he’s right.

“Raincheck?” he asks, tangling his hands in Sebastian’s hair. Their eyes meet.

“Fine,” Sebastian says, punctuating his word with a final open-mouthed kiss to Kurt’s neck. He rolls off the bed and winks at Kurt. “Shower fun when I get back from my jog?”

Kurt ignores him and goes looking for his shirt instead. He finds it discarded somewhere on the floor, next to the… tissues from last night, which he collects with a grimace and throws in the trash can.

“You can have some fun alone,” he says, because they both know Sebastian isn’t really serious. Kurt has to go get ready himself (though he might cut his routine short and nurse his hangover for a half hour in bed instead, he thinks, wincing). By the time Sebastian is back the other boys are likely to be up and about, and there’ll be breakfast and Sebastian’s dad and the ride back to Lima.

“Too bad,” Sebastian says as he makes his way to his bedroom’s en-suite, but as Kurt expected, he doesn’t push.

Kurt pauses with his hand on the door handle. “See you then?” he says.

Sebastian turns, and they both know there’s a lot they’re not saying to each other, and probably won’t say.

He smiles, warm and flirty, but the right corner is a touch too crooked to be completely at ease. Kurt smiles back, a little helplessly.  

He lets himself out.

Breakfast two hours later is uncharacteristically quiet. Kurt spends his time trying to ignore the curious, and in some cases downright disappointed, stares of the remaining Warblers (Hunter, for example, had entered the room all but rubbing his hands together, and ended up looking like someone had stolen his puppy).

Sebastian spends it sprawled in one of the living room’s wingback chairs, a coffee mug in his hands and his hair damp from what Kurt assumes is the shower he took when he got back, idly watching the Super Smash Bros game being played. He looks so loose and decadent that Kurt thinks back to telling Sebastian to have some ‘fun’ alone, wonders if he actually did, and eats breakfast flushed and uncomfortable.

He doesn’t know if this many thoughts about sex are normal after the first time, or if it’s just what happens when he’s no longer viciously repressing his attraction to Sebastian.

The drive back to Lima is also quiet. It’s just Sebastian and Kurt in the car, as usual, because deviation would’ve been an obvious sign, and because after breakfast Kurt had looked at Sebastian and Sebastian had looked at Kurt, and Sebastian had gone to get his keys.

They’re soon pulling up at Kurt’s house. Kurt turns his head to look at it. It looks exactly the same, and of course it is, it’s only been a night. It’s only Kurt that feels different.

“Kurt,” Sebastian says.

Kurt turns, and Sebastian’s devouring his lips without so much as a _please_.

Kurt groans and pulls him closer with a hand on his neck. Their tongues mingle, slick and hot.

They finally split apart after God knows how much time has passed. Sebastian has his satisfied cat face on.

“There. Your rain check,” he says.

Kurt has no idea what Sebastian’s talking about. Then he does.

He rolls his eyes.

“I’ll see you later,” he says as he gathers his stuff and opens the car door.

Sebastian shoots him a wink and a careless wave before he drives away.

Kurt wipes his lips with his hands as he walks up to his house, but he’s still pretty sure when he comes in his dad will take one look at him and know him for exactly what he is—someone who’s been extremely well-kissed.

Despite the fact that apparently his dad had been expecting this months ago, the thought is still mortifying.

But it also makes something warm unfold in his chest, so that’s all right. Even if he knows neither he nor Sebastian know what the fuck they’re doing.

* * *

 

Sebastian would’ve never said, of course, but it was obvious to Kurt that he made an effort to reassure Kurt the morning after they… well… the morning after.

So Kurt wasn’t fearful that Sebastian and he were going to go back to that terrible time after Scandals where neither of them talked to the other.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid that their friendship was going to turn awkward and broken, that his head was in fact better than his instincts, and that his relationship with Sebastian would be irrevocably changed.

He was wrong about the first two things, but right about the last one.

Kurt isn’t sure what they are anymore.

He just knows that in the gap between the last Warbler party and the beginning of school year, they sent practically a hundred messages a day, Skyped twice a week, and went out once for a “drive” that ended with a heated make-out session and mutual handjobs, and still Kurt missed Sebastian until he ached.

When he moves back to Dalton for his senior year, his life and Sebastian’s blur even more.

They settle easily back into their routine, before summer’s interruption. Sebastian is nearly always the first and last person Kurt talks to (and the fact that this was true even in _May_ should have tipped Kurt off that no, this was not a platonic relationship).

They still go to practices, to games, to parties together, still hang out in Sebastian’s room before and after and whenever else they have downtime—only now, in between study sessions and musical brainstorm sessions and conversation sessions and vegetating sessions, Kurt learns from Sebastian the fine art of gay sex and Sebastian learns Kurt’s body and how to best make him insane.

It’s in Sebastian’s room that Kurt gives his first blowjob, tentative and shy. There was no plan, no working up to it, just Sebastian sprawled domineering and possessing in his desk chair and Kurt’s mouth running dry. Before he knew it, he was on his knees, unbuckling Sebastian’s uniform pants while Sebastian caressed his head and gave him instructions, his voice hoarse. Kurt learns that the taste of latex condoms is disgusting and that the angle makes his neck and jaw ache and that giving requires far too much concentration. Kurt also learns, when Sebastian finally pulled him up, his eyes awed and desperate, and licked into his mouth greedily while he finished Kurt off with a hand, that Kurt is willing to do it over and over for Sebastian.

It’s also in Sebastian’s room that he learns that sex can be free and dirty and shameless, when Sebastian tells him no one’s fucking anybody until they both know what they’re doing. Kurt comes that day with his feet spread wide and two fingers deep within himself, his body scorching up with the heat of Sebastian’s gaze. And then the next time, Sebastian repeats his actions, practically step-by-step, like he had been taking notes, until Kurt comes clamping down hard on Sebastian’s long and clever and ruthless fingers. And the time after, Sebastian makes him watch and not touch, and it’s torture. And the time after _that_ Kurt’s fingers breaches someone else for the first time, and he gets it totally wrong and hurts Sebastian and they bitch at each other and by some miracle Sebastian eventually finishes and it’s definitely not sexy, but instead of feeling embarrassed Kurt laughs and laughs and tells Sebastian that’s what he gets for playing sexy teacher. Kurt ends up treating him to a long languorous blowjob after fifteen minutes has passed, thank God for teenage refractory periods.

He learns, eventually, what it’s like to open up your body for another person, that there really can never be too much lube, that it’s hesitant and uncomfortable and even painful, and that it’s so terrifyingly intimate that when it’s over, Kurt can’t do anything but cling and cling to Sebastian.

It gets to the point that now, when he enters Sebastian’s room and smells that mix of musky cologne and sweat (which objectively _isn’t even an attractive scent_ ), he instantly becomes hard like a Pavlovian dog.

Which is a bitch on the rare occasion that someone else is in Sebastian’s room with them, and Sebastian smirks like he knows exactly what dirty thoughts Kurt is having.

Sebastian had taught Kurt his very first time that sex can be gentle and frightening and transformative. Kurt just didn’t know then that it could be like that again and again and again, that it had nothing to do with it being his first time or even sex itself, and everything to do with Sebastian.

The shift in their relationship doesn’t go unnoticed. He can see it in his groupmates’ gazes, because the other Warblers aren’t dumb. But Kurt thinks someone must’ve warned them off. No one asks Kurt anything, and Kurt’s not brave enough to ask Sebastian if anyone’s asked _him_ , so he has to assume that it’s the same for Seb.

On rare occasions, someone _outside_ the Warblers will ask, or call Kurt Sebastian’s fuck buddy or even his boyfriend, and Kurt will instead call Sebastian his best friend, because it’s true.

Sometimes, when he thinks about how much he’s come to not only depend on Sebastian’s presence in his life but also to expect it, Kurt is so so afraid, because it’s _Sebastian Smythe_.

And then he remembers that it’s _Sebastian_ , and the fear trickles out of his hands and sinks to the depths of his consciousness.

Kurt decides not to worry about it, because it’s not like he knew what they were before they started sleeping together either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teenage experimentation, whooooo :D
> 
> Side-comment: does anyone feel this universe is a bit too claustrophobic? I mean, I do know it's a Kurtbastian fic, but I wonder if I should have a couple of scenes where the attention shifts off them, so it doesn't feel like the world is ONLY populated by them. Let me know if there are enough side character mentions that you feel it's fine, or you would like more side characters. I do love me some Warblers. Rachel too. But Burt upcoming.


	10. Relationship Talk (December, 2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " 'His decisions are his own. All you can do is be there for him when the break-up happens,' she says. 'It might not even ultimately be bad for him. People grow from relationships, even failed ones.' "
> 
> Kurt and Sebastian finally deal with what it really means for the two of them to be in a relationship with each other, before either of them turns eighteen.

**Relationship Talk (December, 2011)**

“I don’t know what Kurt is even _thinking_ ,” his dad says, and Kurt hears the pots and pans clatter in the sink.

Kurt freezes where he is, just a few steps from entering the kitchen.

“He’s young and tough and smart, I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he hears Carole’s voice soothe.

He’s suddenly glad his soft socks hadn’t made any noise as he was coming. Kurt knows it’s wrong, but he inches over to the wall and listens.

Because his dad hasn’t been… his dad is his dad, so he’s always going to love and be proud of Kurt, but Kurt knows his dad well enough to know that he’s been unhappy. And Kurt is almost positive it’s because of his relationship with Sebastian.

But Kurt doesn’t know for sure, because neither of them have said anything to each other, not even when his dad came to pick him up for winter break and found Kurt packing the last of his luggage with Sebastian sprawled all over his bed. His dad had said a stiff “hello” and “goodbye,” while Sebastian bolted up from the bed and tripped over all the pleasantries and hugged Kurt goodbye hard enough to bruise.

So yeah, he decides to eavesdrop. He silently thanks Sebastian for keeping him up last night with an entirely ridiculous text conversation and making him miss breakfast.

“But he’s a teenage boy! What does he even think he’s doing, running around with that Smythe boy? I mean, if you even knew half of the things I’ve been told about him, Carole—”

“Burt,” she says, patiently. “I’m not sure you want to judge a boy that neither of us have ever sat down properly with by the neighborhood gossip.”

“ _Finn_ told me about him!"  

“And I’m sorry to say this about my son, but he’s not exactly the greatest judge of character,” Carole says.

For a moment, there’s just the sound of water flowing.

“What’s really bothering you, Burt?” Carole asks.

His dad sighs.

“It’s not… It’s not just that he’s… whatever he is with the Smythe boy. I saw that coming. It’s just that… I raised him, Carole. I saw him daydream about his Name, the perfect meeting, the perfect wedding. I was sure he would be one of those kids that would wait for his Name.”

“And instead, he’s dating Smythe, and refusing to go back to McKinley, and hanging out with all these rich private school boys. Sometimes I feel like he’s changed so much in the past year that I don’t even know him anymore,” his dad says.

Kurt bites his lower lip, his vision blurring.

For years and years now, it’s been just him and his dad. Even now, with Carole, in some ways, it’s still just him and his dad.

He feels like the worse sort of son.

He hears movement, and he imagines Carole laying a gentle hand on his dad’s shoulder or hugging him loosely.

“You know,” Carole says softly, so that Kurt has to strain to hear, “I had a pre-Name relationship too. A lot of people I know did. And a lot of people I know dated around even after they turned eighteen, before they met their person. Those relationships… they fade naturally. He’s eighteen. It’s not a bad or an abnormal thing.  

“But even if he _does_ —why pick Sebastian? Why not someone kind and sweet, like, like, I don’t know, like Sam, or Finn, or Artie?”

“Well,” Carole says, and Kurt thinks she sounds amused. “For one thing, I’m pretty sure none of those boys are gay.”

There are more violent clangs of metal on metal. When his dad speaks again, his voice is hesitant.

“I’m just… I’m afraid he’s going to change everything about himself just so that that Smythe boy can break his heart.”

“You think he’s serious?” Carole asks with a note of surprise.

“I _know_ my son, Carole. No matter how much he changes, he won’t ever be the casual type. He’s a romantic. And I recognize the smitten look he’s been wearing all week. He’ll put his all into this and he’ll get his heart broken.”

Carole seems to mull this over.

“But if…” Carole says, slowly, “you know him… then do you really think that he would date someone who wasn’t a good person and who didn’t treat him well?”

There’s silence.

“Carole,” his dad says, awed and open, “you are a brilliant woman.”

His stepmom laughs, a warm and gentle sound. “You’re just too blinded by your worry for your son,” she says. “From where I’m standing, Kurt looks like a smart, talented, competent young adult who is exploring and coming into himself, that’s all.”

“Who knows,” Carole says teasingly, “Sebastian might have even been a good influence on Kurt all these months. You told me yourself his grades have been improving.”

They both laugh, but Kurt flushes, thinking about how true that actually is. They can’t _always_ be having sex in Sebastian’s room. Kurt’s been spending more time than he ever had studying, with the most competent instructor he’s ever had at his side more days than not, because Sebastian still isn’t going to Scandals and lacrosse season hasn’t yet started. It’s only recently that he’s felt ashamed about the way he had dismissed Sebastian’s high grades when they first met, having seen only his flirty winks and wealthy background.

His dad and Carole don’t speak for a bit, and from the sounds of it Kurt thinks that they’ve both gone back to washing the dishes. He’s debating about walking back to his room and pattering loudly back into the kitchen when his dad’s voice picks up again.

“But… say that’s true…” he says, contemplatively, “Pre-Name relationships don’t last. You said so yourself.”

“Oh, Burt,” Carole sighs. “You can’t protect him from everything. That’s his choice to make, and he’s already made it.”

“But I should still talk to him about it. He might not have thought about—“ his dad protests.

His dad’s voice suddenly cut off. When Carole speaks, her voice is firm.

“His decisions are his own. All you can do is be there for him when the break-up happens,” she says. “It might not even ultimately be bad for him. People grow from relationships, even failed ones.”

His dad and Carole don’t talk any more after that.

Kurt pads back into his room, but instead of going back downstairs like he originally planned, he lies in bed, feeling suddenly sick and cold.

* * *

 

“What the fuck are you doing, Kurt?” Sebastian says.

“What?” Kurt asks, tilting his head down to stare at Sebastian’s brown head, which last Kurt was paying attention was working his way down his stomach.

Sebastian rolls off Kurt, his mouth an annoyed frown.

“If you weren’t interested, you should’ve kept your hands to yourself,” Sebastian complained, “I wanted to see the end of that movie.”

Kurt grimaces. He knows Sebastian hates being ignored. But it’s not that he doesn’t want to, exactly.

He missed Sebastian terribly over Christmas break, enough that when the lights had gone down on the Warblers’ pre-New Years Eve movie night at Sebastian’s house, he’d thrown all caution to the wind and snuggled up to Sebastian—who must’ve missed him too, because he also snuggled closer… which led to quiet kisses… and then groping… and then the two of them making excuses that probably fooled nobody halfway through the movie. At the time, Kurt wondered what it signified, that they didn’t fucking care about how transparent they were being to the others anymore.

But now that they’re here in bed together, in the room where Kurt lost his virginity, Kurt just can’t—his mind just won’t shut up

And neither does his mouth, because in the next second, he’s turning to Sebastian and blurting out, “Have you ever thought about Names?”

Sebastian freezes.

Kurt wants to bite off his tongue.

Sebastian’s not looking at Kurt when he replies, his voice icy, “Besides how annoying it is when people turn eighteen and can’t stop sighing about their imprinted Name? And how much of a bitch senior year will be because of it? No. What about them?”

Kurt presses his lips tightly together. He knows there are lots of reasons they’ve never talked about _them_ , but one of them is that they’ve also never wanted to talk about _this._

But his dad and Carole’s conversation haven’t stopped circling in his head since he overheard them. And he finds he wants to talk about it with Sebastian, because it’s unnatural now to not talk about things that bother him with Sebastian.

“I used to…” he says, haltingly. He’s not sure exactly where to start. “I used to wonder a lot, if my dad is as happy with Carole as he was with my mom.”

There’s a pause.

Then Sebastian is turning to him, his face losing its scary blankness. It morphs into relief, then concern. He rests his head on a propped up hand and pushes Kurt’s hair back with the other.

“Why?” he asks, “Are they having problems?”

Kurt shakes his head.

“It’s just that… my dad is a widow. And Carole’s a widow too. And TV and movies and all that, they’re always making such a big deal about how your Name, they’re… you know, _your_ person, your Soulmate.” He leans into Sebastian’s touch. “And I used to wonder what they would do, if my mom and Finn’s dad came back to life. Which is dumb, because that’s never going to happen. But they both still wear a black ring with their gold ring, and I know my dad still misses my mom… and I just thought that maybe they were, you know… settling.”

Seb doesn’t answer for a long time.

“And what did you decide?” he asks finally. 

Kurt sees his dad’s lost expression every year on the day of his mom’s death, the way his big form seems to shrink in on itself. He sees his dad smiling at Carole when she’s looking the other way, the awe in his Dad’s voice for Carole just a couple of days ago during that terrible conversation he overheard.

“I don’t know. I think—they love each other, I know that, but beyond that… I don’t know,” Kurt admits. “I hate not knowing. I’ve always thought Names were so important.”

Sebastian smiles. “You would,” he says.

Their eyes meet. Kurt licks his lips.

“Have you thought about who your Name will be? Will it matter to you?” Kurt finally asks.

Sebastian stares at Kurt. Kurt can count each second it takes for his eyes to shift into something dark and hard, and he doesn’t need to wait for Sebastian’s words, Kurt knows the dismissal that’s anything but carefree working its way out of his mouth.

He slides closer carefully, resting his head on Sebastian’s pillow and pressing a hand against Sebastian’s collarbone.

“I’ve always loved the idea of a Name,” Kurt offers first. “Someone who you know is yours, someone who you know with certainty will love you forever.”

He closes his eyes.

“It always seemed so miraculous,” he says. ”Someone who would just come to you, and you could be sure they’d fit you, and you wouldn’t have to bumble your way through figuring out what you wanted, whether you liked guys or girls, whether—“

He buries his head into Sebastian’s pillow, inhaling the scent of him. Kurt dimply registers Sebastian’s hand rubbing circles into his neck.

“You were confused?” Sebastian prompts, his voice soft.

Kurt hiccups out a laugh. “No, not really. Weren’t you the one that said if ‘flaming’ had a definition it’d be—”

Sebastian tilts his head back and meets his eyes. “I meant that to hurt, back then. It was a stupid fucking thing to say. You’re gorgeous, and only assholes think ‘flaming’ is an insult,” he says.

Kurt’s mouth lifts at the corners of its own accord, even through the lump in his throat.

And that is why, no matter how he might try, he’ll always circle back to Sebastian.

“You weren’t wrong, though, not really,” he says, pressing a quick dry kiss to Sebastian’s lips. “I think I’ve always known, even before that kiss with Mercedes I told you about. I always secretly thought it would be a guy,” he admits.

He lets the intimate silence linger a little bit, and then ask again, hesitantly, “And you? Have you thought about your Name?”

He can feel Sebastian’s tension against his fingertips, but he can tell this time, Sebastian’s not readying to shut down, he’s bracing himself.

“No,” Sebastian says at last. “Even though I know it’s rare… I’ve always thought I’d be one of the ones without a name. Like Rachel.  

Sebastian rolls onto his back, and Kurt gives him the space.

“And even if I did, who’s to say it’d even work out?” he says. “My parents were a match, they found each other only months after their birthdays—but they only stayed together long enough for my dad to get rich and for my mom to get pregnant. And if something other than pure luck assigned the Names, he must have been fucking blind. Maman can barely be in a relationship for a year, my dad works fifteen hours a day. They’re not even _friends_ anymore. What if I met my ‘Soulmate,’ and he hated my guts?”

Kurt’s heart hurts. Rachel's birthday came and went, and Rachel has been wearing her Unnamed state as just another reason why she was special. He wants to say that Rachel doesn’t have a name because she’s too strong-willed for it—that having or not having a name doesn’t signify at all whether or not you deserved love—that if it did, Sebastian’s entire body would be imprinted from head-to-toe with _Kurt E. Hummel._

But he stays quiet, because he knows that if Sebastian is too aware that he is making himself vulnerable, he’ll hide away, and not even steady pressure will bring him out again. He does the next best thing he can—he curls closer and over Sebastian, as if he could protect Sebastian with his body alone.

Sebastian leans into him, just a little.

“How did your parents meet?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt smiles. It’s one of favorite stories, the perfect everyday meet-cute. “My dad told me that when he met my mom, he walked straight into her and her bags dropped all over the parking lot. They ended up grabbing coffee at a nearby place and talking for hours. It wasn’t until they got shooed out that they bothered to exchange names. But he said within the first hour of meeting her he just knew she was the one, he didn’t even need it confirmed,” Kurt says in reply. 

“They just knew, huh?” Sebastian says, and catching something odd in his voice, Kurt looks into his face. His eyes are considering.

“What are you thinking?” Kurt asks, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Sebastian’s face.  

“My parents’ meeting,” he grins ruefully. “Maman says meeting him felt like two misshapen rocks slamming into each other, shedding sparks and broken bits.”

Kurt swallows. This is the moment he’s waiting for. He—he has to have the courage to say what he’s concluded to Sebastian and… see how it goes. He’s Kurt Hummel, when has he ever held back his words?

“Do you know,” Kurt says at last, “I used to dream that when I met my Name, I’d just instantly recognize him, like my dad did? And he’d miraculously turn me different. The best version of _me_. I wouldn’t be clawing at everything I wanted all the time, I’d be kinder, better, happier. I’d come out of the closet, finally. I wouldn’t be afraid anymore, because I’d have someone’s unconditional love.”

Sebastian frowns, first at the shift in conversation, and then when he starts to process Kurt’s words. “What are you talking about? You _are_ out of the closet. And you _do_ have all that—or at least, I thought you—“

Kurt presses a dry kiss to his lips to shut him up.

When Kurt pulls back, Sebastian only looks more confused. He smiles.

“Yeah, I am, and I do,” Kurt says, simply.

Kurt’s also never shied away from overkill, so just to be sure Sebastian got the message, he adds, pointedly. “So we’ve got two testimonies that says basically how you feel and your emotional instincts matter,” He pauses. “And obviously other people and I all contributed to making me into who I am, but right now, I feel like how I always imagined finding my Name would feel like.”

They look at each other.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it’s nauseating,” Sebastian says finally, but he’s shifting just those couple of inches closer to Kurt, and there’s shaky gladness in Sebastian’s voice. Kurt threads his fingers through Sebastian’s gorgeous hair and pulls him closer, so that their limbs are slotted together like puzzle pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun?


	11. Commitment (January, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year,” Sebastian says. “Do you like your present?”
> 
> Sebastian is smug, and they start off the New Year in absolutely the right way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have this totally gratuitous sex scene, to balance last week's heavy emotions, and also because I feel miserable today and thought I might as well make some people happy. Though this is still, like, 50% emotions.
> 
> Warnings (or kinks? incentive to read?): (safe) barebacking, (bit of) comeplay, dirty talk, general sluttiness and total enthusiastic consent

**Commitment (January, 2012)**

Kurt wakes up to Sebastian palming his ass greedily and nuzzling at his neck.

He pushes him away groggily. “Unghn… Go away, Seb. It’s—” he opens his eyes blearily. 7:30 AM, God. With nowhere to go. 

He notices Sebastian’s hair, all pressed up against his neck and jaw, is wet. Back from his morning exercise routine then.

“Normal people sleep in, you know,” he accuses him through slit eyes. “Go away. We can have sex later."  

Kurt can _feel_ Sebastian roll his eyes.

“We won’t be able to before I have to drive you home and get the house ready for tonight’s party. Not if we want to do it properly,” Sebastian says in a petulant voice. “And I was going to wait until tonight, but then I realized—why not tonight _and_ this morning?”

Kurt is still too sleepy to ask what the fuck Sebastian is on about. He rolls over.

“Go away,” he repeats.

And Sebastian… doesn’t play fair. He presses himself tight against Kurt, showing Kurt just how _awake_ he is at 7:30 in the morning. One hand pulls Kurt closer by the waist, the other slips under his briefs.

“Come on, babe,” Sebastian whispers in his ear, starting to move rhythmically front and back. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Kurt squeezes his eyes together and shakes his head, just to be contrary, but he can’t help working his hips back against Sebastian, just a little. He’s not feeling very sleepy anymore.

Sebastian bites the pulse point underneath his jaw, and Kurt whimpers. He rakes one hand up Kurt’s side and finds a tight nipple, squeezing just hard enough to shoot sparks all down Kurt’s spine.

“Okay, fine,” Kurt pants out finally, scooting just far enough away to roll onto his back. “You win, all right? Just—in me.”

It seems like forever since he’s had anything in his ass but his own fingers. He’s tightening up in anticipation, just thinking about it.

Sebastian laughs, this gorgeous open sound, and in one smooth motion, tugs off his pants and shifts onto his knees so that he’s straddling Kurt.

Kurt stares at the miles of golden skin, can’t help distractedly palming the divots of his hips as Sebastian smiles down at him, even as he’s wondering what the hold-up is. Usually Sebastian’s jumping up at this point for the condom by the nightstand or in some pocket or other.

“But whatever shall we do?” Sebastian drawls, a smug grin on his face. “I don’t have condoms in this room.”

Kurt’s hands freeze on its journey up Sebastian’s abs.

“ _What?_ ” he says through gritted teeth. Sebastian’s blowjobs are amazing, but he wants to be fucked, like, right now. “No way, you’re you, you’ve got to have at least _one._ In your wallet maybe? Or your pocket? Here, get up, let me look—“

Sebastian laughs again—it’s less endearing than usual, why the fuck isn’t he moving—and wrestles Kurt back onto the bed.

“Stay put,” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to Kurt’s nose. “I’ve got something else.”

Sebastian leans over to pull something from the bedside table and drops it next to Kurt’s head. Kurt hopes for Sebastian’s sake, now that he’s worked Kurt up, that it’s something that allows slot a to fit into tab b.  

And… it’s lube and a piece of paper?

“Go on, read it,” Sebastian prompts.

Kurt glares at him, but obediently picks it up.

It’s—it’s Sebastian’s STD test results. Kurt scans it quickly, and then checks it again. And then a third time.

He looks up at Sebastian, and Sebastian plucks it from his hand and throws it across the room.

“Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year,” Sebastian says. “Do you like your present?”

“But you already got me that Burberry coat,” Kurt answers stupidly.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, but his fingers trail lightly down Kurt’s chest and throat.

“Present for me then,” he says. “I hear barebacking is supposed to feel amazing.”

“But I already got you—“

“ _Kurt_ ,” Sebastian says, giving him a condescending look.

“I—okay.” Kurt says, licking his lips. “And we’ll just keep doing this… moving forward?”

He can’t believe… and Sebastian was going to do it on _New Year’s Eve_. Even before their talk. What you’re doing at the stroke of midnight will be what you’ll do for the rest of the year, and all that. Sebastian knows all the superstitions Kurt does.

“Can’t be that hard. It’s just been you since mid-summer,” Sebastian says, faux-casual. Before Kurt stops marveling at that, let alone reply that of course it’s the same for him—though given, he was a virgin before Sebastian and there weren’t exactly men knocking down his door—Sebastian is grinning wickedly at him.

“And all the messy, dirty come should be right up your alley. So to speak,” Seb says, winking.

“Sebastian!” Kurt yells, flushing, even as his cock gives a hard jerk.

Seb grinds down. “Uh huh—I can _definitely_ tell how off-putting you find it.”

“You’re not the one that’s going to have to deal with clean-up,” Kurt says breathlessly.

Sebastian leans down.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers against Kurt’s mouth, “I’ll make it worth your time.”

Kurt is sorry to say he doesn’t need much convincing. He has been finding his defenses against Sebastian’s _Home Alone_ eyes crumbling more and more often lately. They do the bare minimum of prep, and before long, Kurt is throwing his head back as Seb slides in, inch-by-inch.

Finally, they’re pressed tight together. Sebastian stills his hips, Kurt’s legs spread around the fulcrum of his waist, waiting for Kurt’s signal.

The burn of Seb entering him is so familiar. But it’s different too. Kurt can feel with every shift the skin sliding against his inner walls, the heat radiating through him. And it just sounds… messier. He squeezes down.

Sebastian swears.

Kurt tightens again, just to be a jerk. When Sebastian shoots him a dirty look, he winks, wraps his hands around a fistful of sinful silk sheets, and says, “Go for it.”

The first thrust knocks Kurt’s smugness right out of him.

He gasps, surprised and breathless, because Sebastian skipped the usual build-up. Instead, he’s impossibly hard and unforgiving, ramming into Kurt with all his strength.

Seb gets up onto his knees, pushes Kurt’s legs up onto his shoulders and Kurt finds his ass tilting up with the bend unconsciously, and—

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Kurt squawks, because that was a dead-on nail to his prostate. Sebastian smirks, and leans in to nip at Kurt’s open mouth.

“Did I ever tell you these walls are practically soundproof? There's actually no need to worry about waking up the others, I just liked you trying and completely failing to be quiet,” Sebastian says, sounding calm, the bastard, even though he’s still thrusting so hard Kurt hears a _slap-slap_ each time they connect and he sends a jolt from Kurt’s prostate all through his body. A bead of sweat or water slides from Seb’s hair down his neck and onto his abs. Sexy athletic fucker.

“I’ll show you. Go. For. It,” Seb mutters, each word a hard thrust that wrenches a gasp from Kurt.

They do, in fact, go for it for awhile. The sparks flare over and over, until it’s one long continuous light show. There’s no way Kurt can take any more. He reaches down for his cock—but he’s not even halfway there before Sebastian bats his hand away.

“No,” Sebastian says, panting at last. “Not yet. Keep your hands up there for me.”

Kurt makes an inarticulate noise of frustration, but does as he’s told. It’s so good, but too much. It feels like holding a yoga stretch, like pressing on a bruise. He doesn’t know if he wants it to end _now,_ or go on forever  

“God, _Seb_ , fuck—I can’t—“ he sobs out. He turns and bites the pillow, because the room might be soundproof but he’s afraid he’s about to start drooling.

Above him, Sebastian moans.

“Oh my God, are you _literally_ biting your pillow? Are you trying to kill me?” He pants. “ _Fuck._ ” He slows, and Kurt’s eyes fly open to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing—Kurt’s _this_ close—when he feels Sebastian’s hands pull down his legs and push them up towards his chest.

Without prompting, Kurt grasps his thighs and folds himself in half. God bless yoga and dance. The change puts Sebastian’s face right up against his, and pulls his cock just that inch deeper.

Sebastian brackets him in with his forearms, their shared breath fogging up the air between them. He starts to thrust hard and fast again, a move Kurt rewards with open appreciative moans. Their eyes follow each other through the haze of impending orgasm.

“You’re so—so—ah, _fuck—_ tightest ass, tightest body, most fucking gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” Sebastian says. “Just _look_ at you.”

A warmth that’s half pride and half embarrassment suffuses Kurt’s body at that, mingling with that white-hot sensation down his spine. He knows Sebastian must recognize the way his blush is extending down his neck, the way he’s tightening down, because Seb makes to move one of his arms down.

Kurt shakes his head. “No,” he pants. “No. Just. Harder, okay— _ah_ , like that, right there. In me. Just. In Me.”

Sebastian nods. He nails his prostate a handful more times. And again. And again, and Kurt’s gone. He squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a hoarse yell at the orgasm starts at the small of his back and rips through him. It goes on and on, so long he’s barely aware of what his cock is doing, stars literally exploding underneath his eyes. He shakes apart under Sebastian, coming so hard he swears if he were religious he’d see God.

When he finally cracks open his eyes, Sebastian is leaning into him with that familiar expression of ecstatic pain. Still panting, Kurt drops his legs to cross them tight around Sebastian’s waist. His hands move into Sebastian’s hair, tilting Sebastian’s face just enough that his glazed green eyes lock onto Kurt’s  

“Like that,” Kurt says, “Come in me, come on. I want it—“

“ _Kurt,”_ Sebastian moans, and then groans, his cock contracting in Kurt. It’s starting to ache, but Kurt bears down, tries his best to milk each wave out of Sebastian. It’s liquid and hot and odd, and just the feeling of it makes Kurt’s cock jerk painfully and dribble out just that bit more.

They lay together like that for just a couple of minutes more, foreheads against each other, sharing breath. Then slowly, Sebastian pulls off and away with an embarrassing suction sound.

Kurt can feel the liquid leaking out, and it makes him hot for both the right and the wrong reasons.

Sebastian drops down besides Kurt and grins smugly.

Kurt blows an annoyed breath at him.

Kurt _was_ right. It _i_ s a bitch to clean up, even when Mr. Smythe is rich enough to have an ensuite bathroom for his son’s childhood bedroom.

Before that, though—

The afterglow is dazzling.

“We’re doing that again,” Kurt says, bright-eyed, lying with his head tucked in the hollow of Sebastian’s shoulder.

Sebastian laughs, jostling Kurt from his comfortable position even as he presses a dry kiss into his damp hair. Kurt grumbles, snuggling tighter into his warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* I'm not going to lie, I mostly wrote this for myself. I hoped some character things happened in there. 
> 
> Like Sebastian's total enjoyable warped sense of romance. And terrible puns.
> 
> (Also! I see you, familiar faces. Thanks for your coming back week after week for this story, dear readers).


	12. Path to Stardom (April 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ll make it. You belong up on stage every bit as much as that shrilly best friend of yours,” Sebastian says against his lips. “And you’re up there for the joy of it.” 
> 
> Kurt rolls the die on NYADA auditions!

**Path to Stardom (April 2012)**

_“Nothing ever seems like it used to be_

_You can have your dreams, but you can’t have me_

_I can’t go back there anymore_

_‘Cause I’m not_

_I am not_

_I am not the boy next door”_

 Kurt knows he hits the falsetto perfectly, he can hear it ringing crisp and clear in his head and in the practice room. He cuts the note off with a sharp grin at Sebastian.

Sebastian looks back at him with an unconvinced tilt to his mouth.

Kurt feels the triumph and performance adrenaline peter out.

“Was I bad?” he demands.

“What?” Sebastian says, frowning. “No, you were fantastic.”

The response is swift enough that Kurt believes him… but Sebastian is still avoiding his gaze.

“But you didn’t like,” Kurt states plainly.

“I mean—I wouldn’t say I didn’t _like_ it—“

“ _Fuck!_ ” Kurt swears, looking away. He can feel tears starting to bead at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t have _time_ for this, he already threw away “The Music of the Night” because it was too classic Broadway. What was he suppose to scrounge up _now_ in time for his NYADA audition?

“No, hey—don’t be like that, babe,” Sebastian says, jumping down from the chair he was perched on and enfolding Kurt in his arms.

“I’m not going to _college,_ ” he wails, “Rachel’s going to prance off to Broadway and I’m going to end up working at the Lima Bean and becoming the bum on the corner of Elm Street who dresses in like, six layers of rags and smells weird, oh God, I’m going to have to become a _street performer_ to feed myself—“

“You know that will never happen,” Sebastian says soothingly, rubbing his back. “You can always work as my boy toy twink.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Kurt says, but he hiccups in laughter, the tears in his eyes and throat dissipating. “You’re doing a shit job at being accepting and supportive.”

“I’ll stop when you stop being a drama queen,” Sebastian volleys back, but he presses a kiss to Kurt’s forehead.

“Look,” Sebastian says finally. He pulls back to stare at Kurt’s face, his eyes and tone turning serious. “As your… _boyfriend_ ”—Sebastian still pauses before he says that word, but he’s getting better, it’s been three months and he’s had some practice—“I’m told by Cosmopolitan I have the responsibility to be honest with you. And honestly, the song’s not doing it for me.”

Kurt sighs, running his hands through his styled hair and immediately regretting.

“I was just so _sure,_ ” he says, not able to keep the whine out of his voice. “I already ditched ‘The Music of the Night’ for this song because I thought that was too much of a classic audition song and I needed to take a risk. ‘Not The Boy Next Door’ was supposed to show Carmen who I am _and_ my talent.”

Sebastian thumbs Kurt’s lips thoughtfully.

“Look,” he says, “Why did you ditch ‘The Music of the Night?’ Because it was expected and overwrought, right? And sure, ‘Not The Boy Next Door’ fixes some of that, but it’s still _showbiz._ And that means you’ll still be compared to Rachel, who’s more theatrical than jazz hands. Not to mention it doesn’t tell Carmen anything she can’t deduce from your application. You’re the proud and out working class queer at a boarding school singing _about_ being different and proud. The song’s too on-the-nose.”

That’s— _tough_ to hear. And by the tenseness of Sebastian’s shoulders, Sebastian knows it too. But Kurt can’t deny any of it. And more importantly, he knows how hard such long, honest speeches are for Seb. Blunt stinging retorts are more his forte.

But here his boyfriend is, trying to be helpful, because this is important to him too.

“Okay, say you’re right,” Kurt admits, and the tension goes out of Sebastian’s frame. “What am I supposed to do?”

Seb looks thoughtful.

“We both know Rachel will blow the NYADA judge away,” Sebastian says, and Kurt nods, no argument.

“So then make sure you show the judge something that can’t be pitted against Rachel,” Sebastian continues. “Rachel’s Broadway and manic pixie charm personified, so you have to show her something completely different, something that’s not _obviously_ you but still _is._ ”

He looks at Kurt expectantly, but Kurt can only give him a puzzled expression. “And that would be….?” he asks.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. He tightens his grip on Kurt’s waist and reins him in, so that they’re standing with bodies flush against each other. His eyes are dark and fierce, and Kurt is as arrested as that night in Sebastian’s kitchen, so long ago now.  

“Passionate. Raw. Undone,” Seb says, punctuating each word with a hard kiss. Then he pulls back to stare seriously at Kurt. “Do you know how many people I’ve slept with?“ he asks.

Kurt is about to say _no_ and _never tell me,_ but Sebastian steamrolls ahead. “Me neither. But enough that nothing in bed should take my breath away anymore. ”

Kurt wonders where Sebastian is going with this.  

“But you do,” Sebastian says, quickly. “You’re loud and needy and demanding and so fucking _hedonistic_ in bed. It’s a fucking power trip. When I first met you, I thought you were a walking thoughtless stereotype, before I learnt all the important things are hidden underneath your hundred and one coats. When you’re _raw_ and stripped down —it feels like I’m being let in on a state secret.”

Sebastian’s last words are barely out of his mouth before Kurt throws himself onto him, with such ferocity that they’re knocked back onto the table. He grapples with Sebastian’s belt, because obviously that sort of speech deserves a reward.

Kurts gives him open-mouth kisses, wet and dirty, and trails them down until he’s on his knees and _Sebastian’s_ the one that’s stripped bare, not able to do anything but groan Kurt’s name.

Half an hour later, they’re sprawled on the surface of the table, sticky and satiated. Kurt’s shirt is untucked, Sebastian’s pants unzipped but his cock lovingly tucked away, after Kurt laved it with kittenish licks that left Sebastian whimpering.

Sebastian turns to card his hand through Kurt’s sweaty hair.

Kurt thinks suddenly of last year, when he caught Sebastian with that faceless boy in this very room and shrieked the ceiling down. The absurdity of where he is right now in comparison to then—he can’t quite hold back a giggle.

He expects Sebastian to mock him, but instead Sebastian leans close and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll make it. You belong up on stage every bit as much as that shrilly best friend of yours,” Sebastian says against his lips. “And you’re up there for the joy of it.” 

And there’s nothing else to do but kiss him again.

He’ll show the audience a part of himself next week, Kurt thinks, but all the rest of it—the sharing of breath in the afterglow and the awkward clothing re-shuffle and the frantic airing-out of the room—is his and Sebastian’s alone. 

* * *

 

“Hi,” he says, and of course to heighten the awkwardness the mic screeches back in feedback. Kurt flinches. In the glare of the lights, he can just make out Carmen—the _Dean_ of Vocal Performance, oh my God—sitting in one of the middle rows.

“Today, I’ll be singing—singing” he clears his throat, “’Not the Boy Next Door’ from _The Boy From Oz._ ”

He nods to his back-up singers—Tina, Mercedes, bless old friendships—, but doesn’t look to the sides. Knowing Sebastian’s solid presence is back there is enough. Kurt takes a deep breath, and begins.

He glides across the stage, hitting every expression, every note, every hip movement.

_“We made those plans, but they’re wearing thin and they don’t work out ‘cause I don’t fit in.”_

He sings about shedding too-tight skin, about defying expectations and becoming something new, something past others’ plans for him, past his own dreams for himself.

_“Nothing ever seems like it used to be. You can have your dreams, oh, but you can’t have me. I can’t go back there anymore.”_

The lights bounce off on his gold suit, and he lets the triumph shine from his face.

 _“I am not the boy next door,”_ he belts out, raising his hands up as the note crescendos. The word “ _not_ ” echoes on in the girls’ singing and trails off into silence.

When he slowly lowers his eyes from the bright lights of the ceilings, he sees Carmen’s shadowed face as she placidly nods her head. Her hands rise, and Kurt thinks he could just stop here, his job is done, he did pretty well, he thinks.

But was that song _him_? The Kurt that NYADA will either be admitting or rejecting?

“ _Kiss me_ ,” Kurt whispers, heart in his throat.

Slowly, the tense and shadowy musical bars he knows by heart begins. He can imagine the pianist’s face, scrounged up into the bemused expression it wore when Kurt explained his contingency plan and handed over the scores, several hours before.

“ _Kiss me too fiercely,_

_Hold me too tight._

_I need help believing_

_You’re with me tonight._

_And if it turns out,_

_It’s over too fast_

_I’ll make every last minute last.”_

Kurt slides the gold jacket off his shoulder, unbuttons his black shirt. He stands under the lights in his white undershirt, imagining Sebastian’s infuriating and beloved figure standing before him, like it did months and months ago under a different set of stage lights, arms outstretched.

Kurt steps forward,

 

_“Come be how you want to,_

_and see how bright we shine._

_Borrow the moonlight_

_Until it is through._

Kurt lets the rush of fragile feelings suffuse him and pour out of him, until they wrench free that desperate, hotly possessive Kurt—the one that dig red trails down the expanse of Sebastian’s back, in that breath between realization and orgasm.

_And know that I will be here, holding you._

_As long as you’re mine.”_

He comes back to his harsh breathing, to a silent hall with Carmen staring at him.

“It’s just,” he says, huffing out a laugh. “For the first time, I feel…”

Kurt turns sideways, to finally meet a pair of green eyes looking back at him in amusement.

“W _icked,”_ Kurt whispers conspiratorially.

He turns again at the sound of shuffling footsteps. At first, he thinks hysterically that Carmen is about to walk away—did he go over the audition time limit?—But no, she’s just… rising to her feet.

And then she’s clapping, again and again and again; and his back-up singers are joining in; and the people in the back. Kurt grins, flushing, stuttering out a thank you and walking proudly off-stage.

Where he throws himself into Sebastian’s waiting arms and dissolves into teary laughter.

“You were fucking _fantastic_ , Princess,” Sebastian whispers, clutching his shoulders tight.

Kurt laughs-cries, muffled into Sebastian’s neck.

He has to let go far too soon, to wish Rachel good luck as she takes her turn in front of the musical shooting range, to accept all of New Directions’ happy hugs (and frown at their side-eyes at Sebastian), and to call his dad with thrilled assurances.

He plans to sweet-talk and threaten Sebastian into joining him for his celebratory dinner. Because his dad is going to have to get used to Sebastian, eventually, so why not a night when they’re too busy being happy for Kurt?

Unfortunately, the rest of the night is actually spent clutching Rachel tightly. She cries in these body-wracking sobs that lack all the beauty of Rachel’s usual tears and frighten him.

He ends up bundling her up and taking her home with him for dinner, where the awkwardness between her and Finn mostly swallow up the tension between Sebastian and his dad.

But of course, Rachel being Rachel, she bulldozes her way through a second chance. And eventually, a month later, an acceptance to NYADA.

Kurt snaps a photo of his matching letter and sends it to her, then turns around to unashamedly make out with Sebastian while the Warblers cheer and pop open expensive and contraband champagne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're slowly closing in on what I have stored up for this story, but I'm trying to keep pace with the writing. There's at least 3 chapters' worth of material stored up to go, so you guys are probably fine, but I'm going through midterms so... yeah. I would say we're probably more than halfway done with the story now.
> 
> My hope is your fic supply won't be drying up any time soon, but fingers crossed!
> 
> Kurt's audition songs:  
> 1\. [The Boy Next Door](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxWBw_eLaD8) from The Boy from Oz  
> 2\. [As Long As You're Mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhpvB2ZF1PA) from Wicked The Musical  
> (the [ acoustics version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7A5dT1jZN_s) is actually more the mood I think Kurt's performance would've struck)  
> (yes, the title is meant to be a little on the nose)


	13. At Crossroads (May, 2012 / Feb, 2021)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kurt sits cross-legged in bed, alternating between staring at his watch—ticking down to 43, 44—and the smooth skin of his right ring finger."

**At Crossroads** **(May, 2012)**

Kurt spends the morning of his eighteenth birthday alone.

“Come pick me up at noon, okay?” he had told Sebastian, as he leaned through the car window for his good bye kiss. He was born on 9:46 AM on a bright May morning, so noon would leave him about two hours after his Name manifested to get ready.

Kurt sits cross-legged in bed, alternating between staring at his watch—ticking down to 43, 44—and the smooth skin of his right ring finger.

He thinks with a thrill about the silver rings he’s ordered for Sebastian and him, waiting _right now_ at the jewelry store downtown. He and Sebastian will go pick them up on their way to brunch and shopping. They’ll have one of their rare real date nights, before coming back to Sebastian’s mansion to exchange the rings and properly celebrate, far far away from Kurt’s dad (who had only very grudgingly agreed to this plan, with a “I will pretend to believe you’re at Mercedes’ and in return you will tell me nothing” face).

9:45, 9:46.

Kurt watches with breathless anticipation as the ink surfaces on his skin and etches his Name.

It isn’t _Sebastian Smythe_.

* * *

**At Crossroads (February, 2021)**

There are two missed calls from an unknown number.

Kurt stares at his phone, as he hefts his clothing bag over his shoulder and waves to the other dancers packing up. 

“Don’t forget—extra rehearsals on Wednesday at 9:00!” Randy yells behind him.

“Got it!” Kurt says, walking out the door. He’s typing out an unnaturally upbeat message to let Sebastian know he’ll be back in an hour while wondering if he has time to sneak a trip to Neiman’s. He certainly needs the retail therapy, and the Chinese dry cleaner place they really should switch from probably won’t even have his clothes yet—when the phone rings again.

It’s the same number, and Kurt, stupidly, picks up.

“Hello?” Kurt says. 

“Hey, Kurt,” the voice on the phone says, and Kurt knows with a bone-deep certainty and dread whose smooth alto voice that is. Kurt immediately wants to hang up, but he _can’t,_ even though he _should_ , because that would be rude, right?

So he stays on the phone.

“It’s… Uh. It’s Blaine. Blaine Anderson,” the voice confirms. “I’m sorry this seems a little… stalkery, but I got your phone number from Brody. Because. Well, because I really needed to talk to you.”

Blaine waits. Finally, breathing deeply, Kurt settles on, “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dodges stones* 
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is so terribly short! I didn't plan how to structure these two passages, but they were always meant to face each other. And I definitely wanted a breath before we jump to what happens after - especially since I haven't done edits for that chapter.
> 
> So! Come back on Wednesday for a more substantial update!
> 
> *flees*


	14. Support (May, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Warm arms go around him and shield him away. He buries his head into his dad’s familiar scent, the way the smell of oil still seems to linger even though he hasn’t been a mechanic in a long time."
> 
> Kurt is lost after his birthday revelation, and Burt proves that he will always love Kurt best.

**Support** **(May 2012)**

Kurt locks himself in his room because he—he just _can’t_ go back to Dalton. Not yet, maybe not ever. Every morning, he waits until his dad stops calling his name outside his door and leaves for work, scrounges downstairs for the bathroom and instant snacks, and then crawls back into bed.

Morbidly, Kurt scrolls with swollen eyes through page after page of Google results on not-Found Pairs on his laptop. His phone he leaves mashed beneath pillows, because the incessant buzzing of missed calls and unread texts are from everyone but the one that really matters.

He reads about people who have two names, three. He reads about the Unnamed. He reads about Found pairs whose names change or fade, and suddenly they’re no longer Found. He reads about the Widowed Found. He reads about people with mismatched Names.

He reads a story about a guy who found his Name while in a serious relationship with someone else. It lovingly details the grief of the rejected girl. There’s an addendum five years later, where the journalist reports the Found Pair has been “restored to each other” and were newly married. The “natural happy ending,” the journalist concludes.

The story makes him want to throw something at the screen.

The journalist never even bothered calling the ex after, the four years with her a mere obstacle to the grand romance, a necessary step towards _true love._

Kurt thinks if anyone tries to console him by saying something similar about Sebastian, he’d punch their face in.  

* * *

 

Kurt wakes up to pounding on his door, which he at first confuses with the pounding in his head. He raises himself up just enough from his crumbled bed to yell at the locked door “Leave me alone!”

“Kurt, you have to eat _something._ Come out!” his dad says. Kurt can hear the desperation, and he thinks in other circumstances he’d want to strangle the person who’s making his dad sound that way.

“I’m not hungry,” he croaks out. His face feels swollen, his throat dry. He looks at his watch, studiously ignoring his ring finger. 8:00 PM.

“I’ve heated up food,” his dad begs. “Kurt, _please.”_

His heart wrenches at the tone. Hadn’t he caused enough damage?

“I—okay,” Kurt says. He shuffles slowly off the bed. Slippers. Five steps to the door. Twist the knob.

He opens the door to the sight of his dad, unshaven and rumpled and ten years older.

“ _Kurt_ ,” his dad says, and he’s so relieved.

Kurt nods, blindly heading to the kitchen, where he sits down to the single place setting and begins to shove food in his mouth, eyes cast downward. His dad’s signature lasagna tastes like cardboard.

“Here, water,” he hears, and then he sees his dad place a glass down to his right in his periphery vision.

His dad sits down heavily opposite him.

Kurt continues shoveling food down, like he’s on one of those gross food competitions on the Food Network.

“Kurt, I know it’s upsetting, but you can’t—”

He throws the fork down. It clangs onto the plate, off-tune.

“Can’t you wait a little bit longer to tell me how relieved and _happy_ you are?” Kurt demands.

His dad stares at him.

“Don’t look at me that way!” Kurt screeches hysterically, tears beginning to blur his vision again. He swipes at his swollen eyes. “I know you don’t like him! And guess what, you were _right,_ okay? I was stupid and dumb, and I got hurt. Except _he_ got hurt too, and—” He thinks back to the sound of Sebastian’s careless stride into his house, the silence as his dad tells him Kurt’s not leaving his room, that quiet heartbreaking “okay.”

The tears are a lost cause. Kurt lets them fall freely instead, one after the other. He pushes away the plate and buries his head in his hands.

“It was my  _birthday,”_ he cries, inanely.

Warm arms go around him and shield him away. He buries his head into his dad’s familiar scent, the way the smell of oil still seems to linger even though he hasn’t been a mechanic in a long time.

“I’ve never wanted you to be anything but happy,” his dad says gruffly.

“You _lied,_ ” Kurt sobs, the feeling of unfairness overwhelming him again. “You told me you’re supposed to just _know._ And you were wrong.”

His dad pulls Kurt’s head away gently, until he’s staring at Kurt’s undoubtedly red face. He wipes away Kurt’s stray tears.

“You’re sure then, that it’s Sebastian.”

“I—I _was,_ ” Kurt hiccups. He looks down at his finger. His eyes fill with tears again, as he stares at the looping _bs_ and _ns,_ remembering seeing each loop form with horror and willing them to twist at the last second into a different name, a familiar and beloved name.

 _Blaine Anderson_ stares back at him, unchanging.

And he’s suddenly so angry, at this fucking foreign name taking over _his_ body. He scratches and pulls at his finger, ignoring his dad’s cry and pushing away his restraining hands. He wants to tear off the layers of skin, rip off the finger itself. Anything to get _his_ life and _his_ hopes back. His hands are blurring again in a haze of tears.

 “Kurt, stop!” his dad yells, finally grabbing both his hands so tightly he can’t move an inch. Kurt tries to throw him off, but his dad pins his torso with a shoulder, and he’s immobile, the rage bottled with nowhere to go 

“Kurt, _listen to me_ ,” his dad says, his voice steel, and Kurt flashes to hundreds of days of being forced to put down the sewing kit, to help around the shop, to get out of bed and eat and go to school, after his mom passed away. “Are you listening?” he demands. 

His struggling peters out. His limbs fall down to his sides, defeated.

His dad sighs, and moves off him. They stay there, like a diorama for family drama.

“I don’t know what to do, Dad,” he admits finally, quietly, through a haze of tears.

His dad places both hands on his shoulder and tilts his face up. His face is sad, and kind.

“When I met your mom, I _knew_ ,” he begins. Kurt smiles, bitterly, but his dad shakes his head. “But when I met Carole, I knew too. Even though her name isn’t on my ring finger.”

His dad kneels then, so that Kurt is forced to look into his eyes.

“Some people think widows can’t love the people they’re with after as much as they loved their first husband or wife,” his dad says. “And maybe, for some, a second marriage really is nothing but a less lonely way to wait for death. But that’s not what it is for me, or for Carole. I wear both their rings, because both of them have the same claim on me. Do you believe me?”

Kurt, after a moment, nods. He used to feel angry, betrayed, indignant for the sake of his mother’s memory. But ultimately, he’s never doubted his dad loves Carole too.

“Your mom lit up my life, but we used to argue like you wouldn’t believe, too, ” his dad says, letting out a teary laugh. “But we toughed it out through the hard parts until we were able to cycle back to the incredible joy, because giving up was never an option. That certainty and commitment—I think it’s what keeps Found couples going. I felt it with your mom, and I feel it with Carole. If you’re— _sure,_ a hundred percent sure, that you feel the same way about Sebastian, then I know you have just as good a chance as any Found pair.”

He looks carefully at Kurt, who’s weeping again.

“I… I _do_ , Dad,” he says. “I look at my hand, and I just feel so _angry._ It’s not _right._ ”

His dad presses a kiss to his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will also be a normal chapter on Saturday! Then I start wringing my hands about how to keep your fic supply coming.
> 
> Also Burt is the best dad and no one will ever convince me otherwise.


	15. Staying On The Boat (May, 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not your boyfriend, Kurt. We both know it ended when your Name wasn’t mine,” Sebastian says, and his voice is solemn and wet, like a eulogy. Fuck, Sebastian Smythe is crying. Kurt can’t see through his tears. “Just—give me some time, okay, and then we can go back to being best friends.”
> 
> Kurt and Sebastian go through some hard times as they attempt to figure out what Kurt's Name means for them.

**Staying on the Boat (May 2012)**

When Kurt and his dad finally get to Dalton, the sun has long set.

He’s wearing his brightest clothes and the breezy scarf Sebastian bought him at a market in France over spring break, light gloves even though it’s May. In a basket on his lap is a cake and a stolen bottle of champagne his dad turned a blind eye to.

His dad looks at him for a long time from across the stick shift, his hands tight on the steering wheel. Suddenly, he grabs him in a gruff hug.  

“I love you,” Dad says, and Kurt nods, ignoring the tears springing to his eyes.  

Kurt checks himself back into the dorm with apologies to the RA, who looks torn between sympathy and curiosity, but doesn’t bother going back to his room. Instead, he knocks on Sebastian’s door.

Sebastian doesn’t come.

He waits one minute, two, raps again.

Some of the boys, especially the underclassmen, are doing a bad job of pretending like they have business out in the hall, he thinks, after another 2 minutes.

He knocks again, harder. He can hear the whispers starting up behind him.  

“Sebastian!” he says loudly after another minute. “I know you’re in there. Practice or conditioning or whatever else athletes do end at 6, Warblers’ rehearsal ends at 8, and you’ve got Chemistry tomorrow. There’s no way you aren’t in there glaring at your cold tables —”

The door flings open and crashes into the wall. Sebastian is on the other side glowering at him, and wow, he looks terrible. Kurt feels glad, in a small part of his brain, that he’s not alone in looking like shit. Seb’s eyes are red-rimmed and his hair is a mess. He looks like he had right after Karofsky’s attempted suicide.

Kurt _aches_ with longing

“It’s fucking ICE tables, not _cold tables,_ “ Seb spits out. “And will you stop yelling and go away, it’s 9 PM in the middle of the week, you’re going to get written up—“

“Then let me in, asshole,” Kurt says, pushing his way past Sebastian and surveying the room. He was right, that’s Sebastian’s chemistry homework on his table. But judging by the balled-up papers, it’s not going very well. Not to mention the smell.

“You should air the room out,” he says, forced lightness, wrinkling his nose. He drops his basket and goes for the window.

“Don’t touch that!” Sebastian says, pulling him back by the arm with more force than necessary. Kurt winces in pain, and Sebastian drops his grip immediately. Regret flashes over his face for a moment before anger resurfaces again.

“Don’t touch my stuff, Kurt. What are you doing here?” Sebastian demands.

“I always could be, before,” Kurt says, quietly, suddenly so tired. He stares up at Sebastian, who seems to… deflate, under Kurt’s weary gaze.

“It’s not before,” Sebastian says at last, falling into his desk chair and looking away. Kurt sits down opposite him, on the bed. He wishes Sebastian would sit beside him, like they always do, so that he could at least feel his steady presence, take strength from it.

“I brought cake, from your favorite shop,” Kurt finally settles on, as a reply. “And some sandwiches. I even snuck in champagne. I thought we could… celebrate. For my 18th birthday. Since we didn’t on the day.” He rises to show Sebastian, but is stopped by the incredulous look Sebastian is giving him.

“You want to _celebrate_. Your _birthday._ With _me,_ ” Sebastian repeats.

“Of course _,_ ” Kurt says. He grips his thighs, the pain grounding him and pulling back the tears starting to prickle at the corners. Not _again_. He has to have this conversation first. “It’s still _my_ birthday, regardless of what—of what else—and I want to celebrate it with my boyfriend and best friend.”

Sebastian pointedly leans back, gripping the armrests until his knuckles are white. “I’m not your boyfriend,” he says.

“ _You are!_ ” Kurt snaps, the stunned hurt enough to make the indignant tears start rolling down his cheeks. “I say you are, so—so—”

Sebastian’s face suddenly cracks, and there’s so much anguish there that Kurt can only cry harder.

He hates, _hates_ himself. This faceless _Blaine Anderson_ and whoever his fucking parents are. Why couldn’t Kurt just have been Unnamed?

He would’ve preferred to be Unnamed, then to have the pain in Sebastian’s voice shred his heart like shards of glass this way.

He reaches out for Sebastian, who finally, _finally_ rises and closes the distance between them _._ Kurt pulls him in tight.

“I’m not your boyfriend, Kurt. We both know it ended when your Name wasn’t mine,” Sebastian says, and his voice is solemn and wet, like a eulogy. _Fuck_ , _Sebastian Smythe_ is crying. Kurt can’t see through his tears. “Just—give me some time, okay, and then we can go back to being best friends.”

Kurt shakes his head. “You _are_ my boyfriend.” He says, again, putting as much conviction in that sentence as he can. Kurt gestures blindly to the bed behind him. “We fuck in that bed, and we sing together and dance together and my dad hates you and your dad loves me. You’re my boyfriend, and _I fucking love you_ and no one gets to tell me otherwise. _No one.”_

“And what if I did, if I said I can’t do it anymore?” Sebastian says.

Kurt opens his mouth to impress onto Sebastian again just how committed Kurt was to this relationship. And then closes it.

He—he’d been too busy being devastated, too busy reconfiguring the fairytale life he thought he’d have. He hadn’t though about... But of course.

If Kurt’s Name isn’t Sebastian’s, then Sebastian’s isn’t Kurt’s.

And if that were the case, no matter how much Sebastian might love him—and Kurt knows he does, knows it bone-deep—why should Sebastian keep dating Kurt? When his Name might waltz in at any moment? When _Kurt’s_ might? There are plenty of less-complicated boys he can bury the pain in, until it scarred over

Kurt wants to throw himself at Sebastian’s mercy, beg him to stay. But he can’t, because he knows it wouldn’t work. If Sebastian is anything, it’s practical.

He can’t for the life of him think of a response, and he feels like he’s being eaten inside-out by his warring emotions.

Fuck, why does Kurt keep _crying_?

Kurt realizes, with a gut punch of loss, that he probably won’t ever have Sebastian’s soft fingers brushing away his tears again. Or cupping his cheeks, or smoothing down his shoulders the way they do when Kurt feeling emotional over some sappy rom-com.

Sebastian watches him cry, and keeps his hands away. Sebastian sits there, and he doesn’t look like the boyfriend and best friend Kurt knows.

Kurt supposes he isn’t, anymore.

But then, Sebastian _is_ cupping his cheeks, brushing away his tears with a thumb. The touch feels whisper light on his skin.

“Okay, Sebastian says, quietly. “Okay, okay,” he presses his lips against Kurt. Kurt opens for him, sweetly, automatic, the salt mingling with Sebastian’s taste and scent.

When Sebastian pulls back, Kurt’s tears have dried, though he’s still sniffing wetly.

“Okay,” Sebastian repeats, again. He smiles, his eyes dark. “If you’re sure, why not?”

Kurt takes it.

He pulls Sebastian in first, this time, doing what he’s wanted to do ever since the Name first formed. He grasps Sebastian’s beloved face in his hands and savages his lips.

It’s painful. He tastes blood. But then Sebastian’s mouth opens, and he’s eaten away by hunger. The tears wetting Kurt’s face smear on Sebastian’s face, heating up with their shared breaths.

Gravity tilts, and Kurt’s suddenly sprawled on the bed, Sebastian’s solid body looming over him. Kurt grips Seb’s waist with both hands and takes him with Kurt, down, down down.

* * *

He wakes up, hours later, to the sound of silk sliding on skin.

Kurt peels his swollen eyes back, and goes cold.

Sebastian’s left hand is twisted in his right. His thumb rubs along the length of Kurt’s ring finger, creating just a tiny amount of heat where the skin of his glove moves down his skin.

"Can I see?” Sebastian asks, his eyes tracking the movement.

Kurt’s first instinct is, _No, it’s ugly._

Then he breathes.

"I…” Kurt says, struggling to get the word out. “Will you change your mind?”

"I need to see it,” Sebastian says, which isn’t an answer at all.

Kurt bites his lips. Then, with shaking hands, hearing the ragged edges of Sebastian’s breath, he slides off the glove, and splays them out for Sebastian.

Sebastian holds his hand by his fingertips, as if he were reaching out to touch the hand of a princess, and pulls it closer, into the light. He traces the Name with his eyes, then his thumb.

_Blaine Anderson._

Kurt catches the rounded script on the last curve of the _n,_ and twists his face pointedly away.

After a beat, Sebastian’s grip on his hand falls away, and Kurt lets his hand drop.

Kurt wants to tell Sebastian if Kurt didn’t think tattoos were tacky he’d go out and get one of Sebastian’s name emblazoned over his heart. He wants to beg Sebastian not to change his mind. He wants to tell Sebastian that he doesn’t care that it’s not Sebastian’s name, they’re still Found. 

“I love you,” Kurt says again, instead, into the space between them, because he always meant to say it the first time better. He hadn’t wanted to spit it out in the middle of an argument.

Sebastian laughs like shards are stuck in his throat.

Then he’s rolling over and grabbing tight to Kurt, burrowing Kurt’s face into his shoulder.

Kurt hugs back, with all the force he would use to immobilize a thrashing frightened cat.

They must’ve have missed lights out hours ago, but Kurt has no desire to leave Sebastian alone in this warm bed.

* * *

 

They wake up late and scramble to class the next morning. Kurt is hopelessly behind, but he struggles through somehow. The Warblers all look at him at practice, their eyes warring between suspicion and concern. He turns a blind eye.

After, he goes to Sebastian’s room, and breathes a sigh of relief when Sebastian opens the door and steps back for him.

They still both look terrible, but better than yesterday.

They do homework, eat stale cake, drink champagne from the bottle. Kurt ends up on the floor, sprawled all over Sebastian, the alcohol rush moving like bubbles in his bloodstream, and before Kurt knows it, they’re lost in giggles together.

Kurt thinks they’ll be okay.

He wears the glove that day, an old costume ring for the next couple of weeks. The first chance he gets, though, he borrows a car and drives to the jewelry store the next town over—thinking with a pang of the silver rings probably still languishing at the jeweler’s in Lima.

The people there don’t know he has a boyfriend. They look with eyes brimming with sympathy as he grabs blindly at the first black ring that fits.

He can almost hear their silent thoughts: _So young_ and _How?_ and _At least they met early._

White, Looking. Silver, Found. Gold, Married.

Black, Dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at what I consider the official halfway point of the story, guys!
> 
> If you are uncertain about Sebastian's reaction here - well, his thought process is meant to be inscrutable


	16. Who Needs Guidance? (May, 2012)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, everyone, please have this atypically long chapter to make up for last week's missing chapter. I didn't mean to keep you in suspense (and I'm sorry if you felt anxious about it!). 
> 
> I had another chapter planned directly after the one 2 weeks ago, but I really felt like it was necessary to draw out the uncertainty before the NY move, and also bid a fond goodbye and close to the end of high school, and to highlight both New Directions and Warblers in showcasing how far Kurt has gone, just before the story shifts gears to New York. 
> 
> Given the newness of this chapter, and my general ineptness at allllll the characters of Glee (though it was fun writing them!), I apologize for any rough writing and characterization, and welcome any comments!

**Who Needs Guidance? (June, 2012)**

"Kurt!" Mercedes screams, enveloping him in a warm hug as he slides into the seat next to her. He squeezes back as tightly as he can, because Mercedes hugs are the best.

When she lets go, he settles back and lets his eyes sweep across the rest of the table.

Almost the entire crew—the ones he's close to, anyway—is there. Brittany & Santana, shoulder-to-shoulder and glowing that Found Couple glow. Sam, staring at Mercedes with a besotted look. Puck and Quinn, chatting happily away like besties and not like people who had seen each other naked, had a baby together, and then found out their Names were totally different. Artie, looking less of a fashion crime than usual in a forest green sweater and talking to Mike, while Tina looks as bright as her dress despite her recent breakup. And of course, Rachel and Finn, who, unlike Mike and Tina, were on opposite ends of the table and studiously Not. Talking.

There really was no replacement for New Directions and its incestuous dynamics, Kurt thinks with a grin.

“Good of you to finally grace us with your presence, Kurt. Why do you look like a woman who just made off with the last pair of heels in her size?” Santana asks, as she brandishes a silver ice cream spoon—which still manages to look like weapon clasped between her blood-red nails—at him.

“Because I missed you, even though you’re all ridiculous,” Kurt replies easily. “And I’m sorry I’m late for seniors dinner, but Sebastian left for a game this morning and I forgot to borrow his car keys. Since it's the weekend, it took forever to find someone with a car they were willing to lend me for the evening. Pass me the bread, will you, Sam?”

With an amused grin, Sam slides the basket over to Kurt, who promptly picks one up and bites into it with relish, ignoring the grease coating his fingers. He doesn’t know if it’s the late hour or if he really did just miss Breadstix’s oily bread this much.

Probably the latter, given how he almost choked up as he walked in the door and saw Breadstix’s Mediterranean décor, which is about as authentic and classy as motel room art.

“Are they treating you right at that rich school of yours, Kurt?” Finn says with a concerned frown on his face, as he waves over a waiter. Kurt promptly rattles off an order for his guilty pleasures—chicken spaghetti carbonara and a cheesecake a la mode for later—and turns back to see everyone staring at him.

“You’re eating carbohydrates at night now?” Quinn asks, at the same time as Santana says, “Is there a reason you’re eating like someone who ran out of food stamps and it’s the first of the month?”

Brittany frowns, “Wait, they have stamps with food on them? Can I request one with a chili on it?”

While Santana plants a sickeningly sweet peck to Brittany’s lips, Kurt scowls and grabs another breadstick. “It’s like, 8:30, I haven’t had dinner, and I sing and dance every other day. I can eat carbohydrates if I want to.” He prefers not to tell them that it's because when Sebastian first came across Kurt’s calorie-counting notebook, he laughed and laughed and laughed, and then tumbled him back into bed with a comment that he prefers “men with a bit more meat on their twinky bones.”

Sebastian, deservedly, did not get laid that day, but it did make Kurt feel a bit silly sticking to those tight rules, especially when he knew they were more about his control issues than his health or even appearance. 

“Anyway, catch me up, what were we talking about?” Kurt says, as the waiter hustles back with his order.

“My dads are making me leave  _two_ of the five suitcases I’ve got packed for New York here. I keep telling them that _no,_ they can't ground ship them later, because what if I successfully talk my way into a cast party and need _options?_ ” Rachel says.

Artie smiles, and translates, “By that, she means we were talking about all the great plans all you seniors have. Except for Finn, you’re all scattering across the country."

Kurt bites back words at that, even though he dearly wants to go on a rant. He’s already lectured Finn enough, and even dumped a whole bunch of military college pamphlets on the East Coast in Finn's lap when he was at home recently. But Finn resolutely opted to attend the local military school. So while Santana, Puck, and Mercedes all head West, and Rachel and Kurt head East, Finn is staying right here in Lima.

Finn glances quickly at Kurt’s tight lips and not very subtly moves the conversation along. “Well, anyway, do you guys have anything you need to do in the last couple of months before leaving?”

Kurt digs into his spaghetti and listens idly as they all describe to-dos, from the mundane, like saying thank-you to teachers (he gets gossip updates on his favorite Mr. Schuester and crazy coach lady along the way), to the insane, like streaking naked through McKinley's halls as a seniors prank.

It's fun, being in the company of good friends and mediocre food. Hearing Mercedes talk about the song ideas she has for her indie album, hearing Puck divulge his yearly hook-up goal in LA and then try to defend having a number to Quinn.

"But I'm in a new city! Why shouldn’t I have a goal for how many women I want to meet in LA? Kurt probably has them for gay guys in New York too!" Puck says.

And that makes Kurt zone back in the on the conversation with an unpleasant snap. The warm feelings dissipate, and he sits forward.

“What?” he asks with a frown.

He hears a sharp kick under the table, and then Puck’s yelling, “Ow! Quinn, what was that for?”

“I have a _boyfriend_ , Puck,” Kurt says, his voice steady.

He can feel eyes go towards his black ring, and fights the urge to take his hand off the table.

“We know you do right now, sweetie,” Mercedes says, and Kurt bristles at her mama-voice and the _right now_. “Puck was just talking faster than he can think.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend _right now,_ I’ll have a boyfriend in New York, too. Seb and I aren't going to be looking for _anything,_ ” Kurt says tightly, and it's getting harder and harder to rein in his temper. They’re _monogamous,_ Seb gave away his last box of condoms to some desperate Dalton boys a month ago.

There’s an awkward silence, and just when Kurt thinks everyone’s just going to let it go and they can go back to having their nice reunion dinner, Mike—nice, polite, quiet-all evening Mike—speaks up. 

“Are you sure about that, Kurt? I mean, I’m not saying Sebastian will cheat or anything, but have you guys had a frank conversation about being long-distance and explored all your options?—whether you’ll break it off, or open it up, or…?” Mike asks, very reasonably.

Kurt's too surprised he doesn't even have a response, and can only blink and blink at Mike. And as if that’s the cue they all needed, all the boys start jumping on his boyfriend at once.

“I don’t know, man, he _might_. Guy’s got a worse reputation than I did, you know? And that’s saying something, because I had a _massive_ reputation,” Puck says.

“Since we’re on the subject, I don’t get why you’re _still_ with him, Kurt,” Finn adds. “We didn’t say much before, since you were happy and there aren’t that many gay guys in Ohio, even though we all remembered how he acted at competitions. But wouldn’t it be better to break it off before you head off to New York?”

“That probably would be best, wouldn't it?” Artie says, “Rates of success for long-distance relationships _are_ a little better than 50, but given your 18 th birthday has passed… it's hard to see it working out long-term. And objectively speaking, there are probably better prospects in—“

“I would _appreciate_ it if you guys shove a breadstick in your mouth right about now,” Kurt says abruptly. "Otherwise, I'm going to stand up and go,  _right_ _now,_ because I came to catch up with my old friends, not to listen to a bunch of gossip queens speculate about my relationship or throw mud at my boyfriend. Who, if it were any of your business—which it fucking _isn't_ —is gorgeous and intelligent and way too proud to lie and too selfish to share."

They blink and blink at him, even Santana. Finn opens his mouth again, with a stubborn expression, but Kurt stands up immediately, his chair screeching against the linoleum floor. He knows it's one of the last times they'll all be together like this, the original New Directions, and as dramatic as he is, Kurt doesn't actually want to make a scene at the _Breadstix_ of all places. But. But he can't just sit there and pretend these words didn't  _hurt._

Finn shuts his mouth. Kurt glares them all down, until they start mumbling about some bad freshman singer.

He sits back down. 

They speak about unrelated topics for the rest of the night, while Kurt tries not to knife at his spaghetti too aggressively and skips on his dessert because he no longer feels hungry.

The boys occasionally look nervously at him, but he can’t read the girls. Mercedes spends much of the night with her arm slung around his waist, which he tries not to feel comforted by, because he was angry at her too. 

Their words play back in his head again and again, and settle like acid in his stomach. 

* * *

When Kurt finally leaves the dinner for his car, it's with Santana and Rachel in tow. He doesn't really know when he got designated driver for the two divas. Normally, he would protest that he was way more fabulous than them both and by rights shouldn't get driving duties. But today, Kurt’s too busy staring at his phone, trying to compose a text message to Sebastian. The cursor flickers on an empty draft, just like it has for the last three minutes of walking.

"You might break your face frowning, Kurt," Santana observes nicely.

"Or get premature wrinkles, and who'd want you on stage then?" Rachel says, also very nicely.

Kurt needs other friends.

"It's just..." Kurt bites his lips, "What's a way to tell your boyfriend that all your friends have doubts about a possible long-distance relationship without distracting him for the game or insulting him?"

"'All of my friends think our long distance relationship is doomed, but it's okay, because the heartbreak will fuel a thousand of my performances?'" Rachel suggests.

"'You're crazy, Berry," Santana says, then follows with, "'Can you prove to me you're not a cold-hearted slut with Disney prince hair? Because New Directions think so and they're totally right.’"

Kurt knows Santana's just being herself—but he can’t help it—he flushes and spins around, mouth already open and ready to repeat his tirade. But Santana just rolls her eyes and waves her hands in his face, as if she were batting away an annoying fly.

"Oh, suck it up, Kurt," she says. "Sure, the boys were harsh, but they were just trying to wake you up. I don't even have a problem with Sebastian, because—let's face it—he's basically the less funny male version of me. But you need to be realistic about what's going to happen with New York, okay?"

Santana pauses, and then looks away, at the streetlights in the distance. "I don't even know what's going to happen with Brittany while we're long-distance, and she's  _my_  Name."

Kurt swallows. He looks down at the blinking cursor of his phone screen.

Warm hands wrap around waist from behind, and Rachel's face comes to rest comfortably on his shoulder. Kurt turns his head, and breathes slowly in her citrusy-rose scent. He didn’t realize how much he’s missed it.

"Don't worry about it, Kurt, or you really will get wrinkles," Rachel says. "We're meant to be stars, right? Whoever became one by conforming? The more risks you take, the more you're signaling to the world that it needs to let you through."

Kurt's heart sinks, as he processes that Rachel too—probably the craziest person he knows—thinks of Sebastian as a risk. He tries to not it get to him, because he knows they think they're validating him, taking care of him, but—

"Sure," Kurt says, trying to strike an easy tone. 

He looks again at his blank phone screen, bites his lips, and shoots off a text quickly, then stows the phone deep inside his pocket.

"Let's get going," Kurt says, hooking an arm each of the girls and letting them lead the strut the rest of the way to the parking lot.

 _I miss you_ , the text reads, because whatever else Kurt's thinking, that's unequivocally true.

* * *

 After checking himself back into Dalton, Kurt finds himself standing near the entrance and letting out a long sigh. He knows it's late, and he definitely ought to go for that beauty sleep. But his thoughts, they just wouldn't shut up. 

Almost without his conscious decision, his feet begin moving in a long winding detour away from the dorms and to the echoing halls of Dalton’s main building. It’s chilly, and almost pitch black except for the moonlight streaming in through the arch windows. He thinks with some amusement that if this were a year or two ago, he’d be walking huddled in on himself, frightened out of his mind that some ghost—or worse, some creep—was hiding just around the corner. There’s a reason he almost never watches scary movies.

But now? The school’s too familiar, overridden by too many memories of dancing and singing and laughing in the halls in his Warbler uniform. And soon, it’ll be over. Perhaps for the first time, Kurt lets himself get overwhelmed with the full force of his premature fear and nostalgia, as his feet trace their usual path.

Soon, he's standing right outside the Warblers' practice room. Where he's spent half of his time at Dalton in, Where he'll soon have to say good-bye. Except—his feet pause on the last half-step.

Kurt frowns at the light spilling out from the open door.

Kurt locked the door himself last practice. And though most of the Committee Warblers have keys, there’s no reason any Warbler would be in there this time of the night _,_ since they got knocked out at National semi-finals earlier this spring and had only a couple of garden party gigs coming up, where all they have to do to look cute and wink at old ladies.

He creeps slowly to the door, and edges it open a tiny bit wider.

Where he promptly sees Hunter with a bottle of Courvoiseir cognac in hand sprawled all over the piano bench, and a couple of feet away from him, a drunken-faced Jeff and Nick in wingback chairs.

Kurt rolls his eyes and pushes the door open the rest of the way. He narrows his eyes at them.

Jeff and Nick, upon seeing him at the door in his white blazer like an avenging angel, jump and hastily pull themselves up. Hunter grins and gives a salute.

“What’s up, boss?” He slurs, “How was dinner with the Lost Directions?”

“Wow, where have I heard that one before. Oh. Right. From your mouth for the past two years. You need more quips, Clarington,” Kurt replies. He points to the alcohol. "Is that Sebastian's?"

Hunter shrugs. "Well, it's not like he's here to enjoy it. Want some?" He indicates the tumblers on the piano surface. There was even a bucket of ice next to them, because why go halfway.

He really shouldn't give the bastard any satisfaction by taking him up on his offer. But... after the reunion he just had... it was... tempting... just a little. 

He looks at Jeff and Nick, who slowly begin to relax as they see the appraising way he's taking in the alcohol.  

Jeff smiles mischievously. "It's very good," he says, while Nick groans and leans back on his chair. "And it makes you forget about impending finals. Ugh, I’m going to fail calculus, man," Nick says. 

Hunter scoffs as he pours another drink. "At least if you fail they won't make you repeat the grade.  _Again_." He shakes the glass at Kurt. "How about it?

Kurt eyes the cognac again. Well, Dalton’s RAs _were_ the most liberal in all of Ohio—or too echauste to bother, maybe. And Kurt supposes it _is_ the weekend. _And_ eerily quiet, with seniors on the brink of graduating and everyone else preoccupied with finals.

"Well, then, give me the glass," Kurt says imperiously, drapes his white blazer elegantly over a chair, and sits himself down.

Hunter rolls his eyes but obediently passes the glass. Kurt takes a big gulp, and then promptly coughs half it up. He really doesn't know how Sebastian stands this stuff. It makes his eyes water and burns half his throat, but doesn't do a thing for his headache and bad mood. 

“ _Woah,_ slow down there, Gayface, I don’t want to cart you back to your room. What’s got _you_ all up in knots?” Hunter says, and though the words are as mocking as ever, there’s a hint of real concern there.

Irrationally—and he recognizes that it _is_ irrational, even as he feels the pinpricks of annoyance—Kurt bristles at the nickname. 

“My name is Kurt,” he says shortly. 

Hunter only hums in reply, and they fall silent.  

Kurt stares down at the glass in his hand, watching the broken refractions of the amber liquid. 

He doesn’t get Hunter, still, even though Sebastian and Hunter remain good friends and of course Kurt now knows Sebastian as well as his own right hand. He had once asked Seb about their friendship, torn between confusion, resentment, and a possessiveness that prickled.

"He's like me, except he never learnt better," Seb had said, and let it go at that, no matter how much prompting Kurt did.

And because, for all that Hunter is still an annoying bastard, Sebastian really _had_ been having a moderating influence on his more atrocious behavior, and Kurt’s got no complaints about his performance in the Warblers, Kurt had no choice but to let it go.

It doesn’t change the fact that when Seb calls him by mean nicknames, Kurt feels warm inside, and when other Warblers do it, he rolls his eyes. But when Hunter does it, Kurt still wants to slushy him in his smarmy little face.

Kurt's gaze slides to the two boys opposite him, leaning comfortably against each other. Nick and Jeff though. Them he likes. Not as well as say, Trent, whose door he probably would’ve knocked on with a bottle of beer if he hadn’t passed by the practice room. But he likes them well enough.

They aren’t bad guys. They just tend to follow where the stronger personalities lead, in that careless manner that only privileged white boys possess. He knows one has an investment banker dad, and the other has society lawyers for parents, but he can’t remember which is whose right now.

Kurt tilts his head consideringly. Then again, what did he know. He's been singing and dancing with them for nearly two years, has been in their houses, met their parents. But what did that guarantee about his judgment, really? 

Beyond them being best friends who did anything and everything together - what did he really know about their friendship, how they support each other?

Did anyone outside a relationship ever know? Did anyone _inside a_ relationship?

"Do you know, Jeff? What Nick means to you?" He says, loudly. And then blinks. Well, he wasn't expecting that to actually come out of his mouth. 

But Jeff apparently doesn't think that's a weird question, because he only smiles and says, easily, "Yeah, he's my best friend." A pause. And then, dramatically, "And we made out once when we were 14 but decided we both liked boobs too much."

Nick flushes and yells  _Jeff!_ while Hunter cackles. Jeff grins shamelessly back, his cheeks flushed pink and his cherubic hair tousled.

"That face must get you everything," Kurt says wonderingly. Jeff only smiles some more, which is as good as a yes.

Then, as if an after-thought, Jeff adds, "But I guess you and Sebastian didn't have that same best friend experience, huh? "

This time it's Kurt's turn to flush. 

"No," he says, looking down at his glass and remembering that cool summer night, the fairy lights casting shadows on the grass and the heat of Sebastian's mouth. "But we're both gay, which probably helps."

When he looks back up, Nick is staring seriously at him. Kurt frowns, which seems to prompt Nick, because he says, hesitatingly, "Well... I mean, we're—all of us, we're glad you guys are working it out. We were really worried, when you were gone. Before the seniors left, they told us to leave it alone and let you guys figure it out, so we were never really sure how much to say. But then you guys did mostly work it out yourself, until... Anyway."

Hunter, who'd been suspiciously quiet so far, snorted. "Oh please, David _also_ thought they were going to be Found. He was all looped up on hormones from finding his match, so you can't really blame him, but Sebbie didn't exactly have the same luck, did he?"

Jeff and Nick whispers, too loudly, _Hunter._ Kurt flushes again, this time out of anger. 

He opens his mouth to retort, but Hunter goes on blithely, "What? Like we don't all know already that your Name isn't Sebastian's. I don't know who you think you're fooling with that black ring, honestly."

Liquid sloshes out of the tumbler as he unintentionally slams the tumbler down. 

"So what? Does that mean we're doomed to failure?” Kurt asks.

"Shut up, Hunter. Kurt, let's--" Jeff and Nick say soothingly, but Kurt's anger and confusion feel ready to boil over and hurled at Hunter’s smug face. 

He continues, his voice rising with every word until he's shouting from his chair at Hunter. "Spend a lot of time wishing for break-up, do you? Dream and cackle about how I'm going to nurse my broken heart in ballad after ballad in New York, Clarington? Just _dying_ to take Sebastian around and have him live it up again, is that it?" 

Hunter stares and stares at him, and then bursts into laughter.

"Oh my God, Kurt, how does Sebastian stand you?" Hunter says, sniggering. "Are you always such a drama queen? Way to put words in my mouth. When the fuck did I say I thought it wouldn't work out?”

"How the _fuck_ is what you said  _not_ the same as—" Kurt begins loudly again.

But Hunter's voice drops all its light-hearted maliciousness, and that's strange enough that Kurt stops speaking. "But  _you_ seem to have thought about it plenty," he says. "Maybe a break-up is _exactly_ what you've been wondering about? Maybe that's what you want?" Hunter narrows his eyes at Kurt. "If you're just looking for an excuse to dump him without feeling like an asshole, you should just go for it now, instead of waiting around hoping he'll—what did you call it? _Live it up_?"

"I'm not looking to break up with him!" Kurt says, stunned.  

That’s when he notices that Nick had somehow moved to his side without him noticing. With a gentle hand, Nick pushes him back into his chair, which he'd unconsciously risen up from.

"We know, Kurt, Everyone with eyes can see you two are in love—" Nick says. Except Hunter cuts in again, this time with a snort.

"Yeah, some love. What a strong foundation of faith they have, with one of them sitting there waiting for the other to cheat on him, and the other just counting down the days until it ends," he drawls.

"Sebastian doesn't—I don't think—" Kurt says, and he hates that he’s tripping over his words in front of Hunter.

Hunter snorts again. He grins viciously at Kurt, who feels like a prey, caught under the gaze of a predator and turning around and around to find itself backed into a corner. "Really? 100%? You'd swear to it, on your rainbow-colored heart and on your last Jimmy Choo shoes?"

The words of his friends swirl around his head again. Kurt bites his lips, because he—he—mortifyingly, he feels tears beading up in his eyes as Hunter stares at him, maybe because of the late night, maybe because of the alcohol. He's always been an emotional drunk. 

Strangely, the glisten in his eyes break whatever spell Hunter's been in. He groans, and his gaze and voice loses that sharp-edged viciousness.

"Oh my God, _don't,"_ Hunter says, rubbing his face with his hands. "If Sebbie hears, he'll pummel me in the back of the dressing room for making his precious 'Princess' cry."

Before Kurt can retort _as if_ he’d _ever_ give Hunter the satisfaction. Hunter sighs. He turns away to look intensely at his drink.

Then, his spine straightens, military style. He picks up the tumbler, downs in in one go, and turns back to look at Kurt with the most serious expression Kurt has ever seen on Hunter Clarington's face.

Then, in an equally serious voice, one that Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, Hunter says: 

"Look, I knew him as a kid, all right? And his family was kind of messed up, and then he went to Paris and slept with a bunch of boys and got even more messed up. And it was good for me, because I fucked up plenty too. Got held back, got kicked out of military school. It was great. Sebbie would come back during the holidays and we’d laugh about how, now that we were in the same grade, we could terrorize everyone together, if only we were in the same school."

He pauses then, flicks his eyes up and down Kurt. When he starts again, his voice is laced with equal parts affection and vitriol. “But then, that actually _happened_. He transferred back. Except there you were, and now he’s all reformed and shit. And I can’t even be angry about it, because he’s so fucking happy. And I’m sitting here, still fucked up, and still alone, and with _Jane Doe_ on my ring finger."

There's another pause. Hunter stares at Kurt, his eyes black, while Kurt looks back, his head swarming with thoughts. At last, he turns away, and reaches out to mechanically pour himself another drink. He doesn’t look at Kurt, and so Kurt almost misses Hunter’s last words, said into the full tumbler he’s bringing again to his mouth.

“So the boy’s not going to ‘live it up’ and throw you away, all right? Unless you do it first,” Hunter says, and then downs the glass.

Kurt swallows.

He looks first at Nick, then at Jeff, who are also staring at Hunter with mixed emotions on their faces. 

Jeff breaks the silence first.

"Wow dude, you’re actually human,” Jeff says.

Hunter snorts again. "No, I’m drunk." he says, shaking the glass in his hand. “And if you say another word about it, I’m going to smash this cup in your pretty face."

Jeff pouts, while Nick sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

He sits down in his chair again, opposite Kurt, and looks at him with clasped hands. 

"Look... I'm not... sure... about all that," Nick begins, haltingly. "But. You should know, when you were gone, Sebastian was terrible to be around. He was both completely zoned out and a total slave driver. When you came back, we actually threw a secret party to toast your reunion. For what it's worth... We— all the Warblers, we’re. Uh. We’re rooting for you two."

Kurt looks at Nick, who stares back with radiating sincerity. He looks at Jeff, who pats Nick on the back and nods. He looks at Hunter, who's having another drink with an unamused smirk on his face.

Finally, Kurt nods.

He feels relieved, and a little sad, and a lot exhausted.

Jeff sighs, comes up to Hunter, and swipes his drink. While Hunter splutters, he offers it to Kurt. 

"Here, bottoms up, and then I think you should go to bed,” he suggests.

“You’re probably right,” Kurt concedes. He drinks it in one go and tries his best to hold back the wince. When Kurt puts the glass back down, he can’t help catching Hunter’s eyes, staring at him with an inscrutable light.

It prompts Kurt to say, the words thick on his tongue, "Thanks. I'll... I'll keep what you said in mind."

Hunter lifts an eyebrow, but the odd look to his eyes disappears, and he grins his normal smarmy smile. Which paradoxically, makes Kurt feel better. 

Kurt stands and heads for the door. And then, halfway out, he turns back.

"Could you—" Kurt asks. Peters out, has to try again. "Would you mind—not telling Sebastian..."

He doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

Hunter shrugs. "What would I even bother to tell him about?"

Kurt nods, and tries not to show any relief at that. He goes.

* * *

 When he wobbles back in his room and pulls his phone out of his very very tight jeans as he's stripping down for bed, Kurt sees three messages from Seb, sent an hour ago in quick succession.

_From: Meerkat_

_Miss you too, babe. Go to sleep._  
_Can't wait to trounce St John's tomorrow, so you can welcome me back with your Warbler tie and nothing else on._  
_Yes, that's a hint, Princess ;)_

God, he misses Sebastian. It doesn't matter that all this awkwardness and fear are threatening to swallow them both whole, Kurt still misses him with a pain so paralyzing it was almost sweet. Is this what the entire year in New York is going to be like? How is Kurt going to get through it without going crazy?

"What is it, Kurt?" Sebastian's groggy voice greets him. “It's haaaaaahh"--there's a wide yawn--"ass-o-clock at night, and I have a game tomorrow."

Kurt blinks, staring at his hand - which had punched in Seb's speed dial almost without his conscious decision.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, wincing. He knows Seb takes his game performance seriously. Kurt even gets kicked back to his room the night before game day. "Go back to sleep. I was just--I just, missed you, that's all. Uhm..."

"Ugh," Sebastian groans. There's a shuffle of sheets, and then Seb speaks again. "You sound drunk and like you're having a Kanye-level freak-out. What's the crisis?"

Kurt pauses, and then laughs awkwardly. Even though a part of him is dying to share the entire day with Sebastian, most of him is cringing at the prospect. Finally, he settles on saying, with as light a tone as possible, "I just had a heart-to-heart with Hunter about you, that's all. That's enough to give anyone a crisis. It's creepy when Tinsel toy soldiers become animated."

Sebastian hums, but even that sounds sleepy. "Yay, best friend and boyfriend bonding, kumbaya. Great job avoiding the topic, babe."

And even though he was caught red-handed, that makes Kurt smile.

"You're not even listening anyway," he teases, and Sebastian hums his agreement. He sounds half-asleep again already.

Kurt pauses, suddenly struck by a thought that he knows will turn this day from crappy to not so bad, and put him to sleep in one stroke.

He asks, quietly, into the phone. "Will you sing to me? You don't have to—I don't know how to explain but—please?"

Sebastian groans. There's a shuffle of sheets, and then Sebastian says in a cranky voice, "What teenage boy wants a lullaby and not phone sex? Next time if you wake me up, I'm demanding phone sex. And don't think this means you get away with not talking about this weird fucking mood when I get back." Which Kurt knows means a _yes_.

He gets into bed, phone pressed to his ear and blankets pulled snug around him.

"OK," Kurt says, once he's fully settled. "Falling Slowly? You know, from the movie _Once_ that we watched together?"

Kurt can just  _see_  Seb rolling his eyes, his mouth quirking up just to the side, as he says, "Spoiled brat."

Then, from the phone speakers comes Sebastian's tenor voice, a little deeper and rougher with sleep.

 _"Take this sinking boat and point it home_  
_We've still got time_  
_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice_  
_You'll make it now..."_

As the verse closes, Sebastian's voice trails off, and Kurt doesn't know if he forgot the lyrics or if he were just falling asleep again, but Kurt picks it up for him, singing in a whisper the next verse:

 _"Falling slowly, eyes that know me_  
_And I can't go back_  
_Moods that take me and erase me_  
_And I'm painted black_  
_You have suffered enough_  
_And warred with yourself_  
_It's time that you won"_

He lets the last note trail off into a comfortable silence between the two of them.

"Good night," Kurt says. From the other side, he hears only light breathing.

He hangs up, and is carried off to sleep by the echo of Sebastian's singing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically have 2 more weeks of chronological content, so I will try my best to keep the updates coming regularly, but please know I'm a full time student with finals quickly approaching—which is to say, I can no longer promise regular Saturday updates. Nonetheless, I promise you this story will be finished (and is mostly finished, honestly!)
> 
> Sebastian's serenade: [Falling Slowly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkFB8f8bzbY) by Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglov, from _Once_
> 
> (Is it meant to be prophetic? mwahahaha)


	17. Interludes (2012-2013)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It gets easier, once they set a predictable schedule of Skype dates and calls and visits, but never easy."
> 
> Kurt and Seb do long-distance, and they grow up. It's a little bit of a disaster, but in all the best ways.

_Kurt’s senior spring and graduation and their summer together burn out too fast, and before he knows it he’s on a plane to New York. When he isn’t blissfully happy, Kurt is frightened out of his mind about leaving Sebastian behind with his doubts—or even, deep, dark inside, about himself forgetting their relationship in the rush of Big Apple glamor and newness._

_And long-distance is hard. Being apart is hard. Whoever says it isn’t is a fucking liar._

_Sometimes he misses Sebastian so much he does stupid things like smell the shirt he stole out of Sebastian’s closet. Sometimes he’s too busy to think about Sebastian at all, flirting back at one of the many many gay and cute boys out of sheer horniness while calls to Seb go unmade, before he remembers in a rush of shame—and those moments are somehow the most terrible of all._

_It gets easier, once they set a predictable schedule of Skype dates and calls and visits, but never_ easy _._

**

“Kurt!” Sebastian yells, standing with his windswept hair in a crowd of suitcases, and Kurt _goes._

He crashes into Sebastian and reclaims his mouth, hard. When he pulls back—just a little—Sebastian looks dazed.

He gathers himself quickly enough though, and smirks at Kurt as he says, “You taste like toothpaste. What, came down the airplane prepared?”

“Yeah,” Kurt murmurs into his ear, “That’s not the only thing I prepared.”

He pulls away as Sebastian goes still.

And then Seb is pulling him and his luggage swiftly out of the airport and into Seb’s car with its tinted windows—“What, bathrooms here not good enough?” Kurt laughs, as Sebastian pushes him back against the leather seats. Seb answers, seriously, “You’d bitch about all the germs, and I wouldn’t even get the thrill of the mile high club out of it”—and they get down to reacquainting themselves with each other.

Thirty delirious minutes later, they finally start rolling down the highway back to Kurt’s home. The long flight and ridiculous Thanksgiving crowd was worth it for this, Sebastian warm next to him, Kurt thinks, feeling so languid he can’t even keep his eyes open long enough to respond to the insistent texts coming in from New Directions.

***

_Shockingly, his dad and Rachel become their greatest supporters._

_His dad reminds him gruffly Sebastian is welcome to come for Christmas, and to “bring that car of his so it can get the maintenance it deserves, the way that engine sounds is a damn shame.”_

_“I’ll help you the next time I’m down, how’s that?” Kurt says cheekily, to cover up the emotions rising in his throat._

_Rachel pulls him away from whoever is flirting with him with a thoughtless air; drinks his drinks when he’s getting carried away; makes mock sympathetic noises when he sobs into her shoulder some time halfway through the year when Sebastian tells him he’s started to make trips to Scandals again._

_It’s… more touching in context._  

***

“Wake up princess, we’re here. Your dad and Carole are waiting.”

As if on cue, his dad and Carole burst out the door, followed by Finn. Out of their group, Finn is the only one who elected to stay near home, and Kurt used to be angry at him about that. But looking at the lack of tension in Finn’s shoulders—though no one has trained him out of not hunching, as if it actually hid his bulk—he’s reminded that as many people have told him, different strokes for different people.

Kurt swings out of the door and throws himself inelegantly at his dad, who hugs him gruffly, and then moves on to Carole and Finn. He lets them coo over him a bit— Carole admires his coat and sunglasses and how grown-up he looks, his dad looks like he doesn’t know whether to look ecstatic or cry manly tears, and Finn just claps his shoulders over and over again. Sebastian, on the other hand, stands by the car looking awkward, which isn’t a very typical look on him.

He’s about to go and pull Sebastian in, banking on Sebastian being willing to indulge him after a long absence, when it’s his dad that surprises him instead.    

“Sebastian,” his dad says, out of nowhere. Seb immediately straightens, boarding school style. They exchange an intense eye wrestle, while Kurt debates between rolling his eyes at the macho posturing and stepping in because it actually _does_ make him nervous. Finally, bare moments before Sebastian finally cracks and looks away—Kurt can tell from his pressed lips—his dad nods.

Kurt breathes a sigh of relief when he puts a hand out, which Seb takes nervously—and for good reason, his dad grips and shakes it so hard Kurt winces with Seb in sympathy.

Then, his dad says, “Well, come in. It’s damn cold out here. You can wait until you have to get back to your house. No reason Kurt always has to be the one to visit _your_ house, especially when he’s here for Christmas with his family.”

Seb shoots endearingly nervous glances at Kurt. “Actually, Mr. Hummel, the term’s not over, I wanted to pick up Kurt but I was hoping to be back at Dalton earl—annnnnddd actually I will probably spend the weekend with my dad,” he finishes quickly, noticing Kurt’s frantic crazy eyes, “so that should be fine.”

His dad _hmphs_ but leads them all back in, while Kurt and Seb exchange worried looks and Finn the jerk gives them a thumbs up.

It is as mortifying as Kurt thought it might be. His dad grills Seb on _everything_ —from the boys he’s been with to his family to his past behavior with the other New Direction members. Sebastian only gets granted a reprieve when Finn strikes up conversation about his Found soon-to-be-girlfriend, whom he met a couple of weeks ago, and Carole finally lures his dad away.

***

_The Warblers are of course supportive, in that “Fucking talk your boyfriend down from the ledge, he’s on a bloodthirsty rampage about ‘shoving our talent up those judges’ asses’ for our loss at Nationals last year” way. His McKinley high school friends are as confused about Sebastian and him as ever._

_People around them don’t ask about what happened on his birthday—his black ring speaks volumes—, but they know Kurt and Sebastian are an item still, and they no longer stare in wonder at that fact, and that’s enough._

_Kurt is rarely top of his class. Living and breathing music all day every day is cutthroat and exhausting. But he’s getting there. And when Kurt is walking the grimy streets of the city at 8pm, with sore feet while munching on a convenience store sandwich… he feels himself falling in love, all over again, with his dream, with New York City._

_Sometimes, he catches the same wondering excitement in Sebastian’s voice, when he’s soliciting feedback about a new performance set he’s thought of, when he’s describing the colleges he’s been looking at, when he’s talking about the new ethics class Dalton put on the course list._

_Kurt’s always dreamt big, and he hopes—believes— Sebastian is dreaming with him._

***

“They _finally_ fixed the field in time for the spring season, so now it’s not a disgrace when we have a home game—oh, hey, what’s up, Colin, Blake? This is Kurt, just showing him all the ways Dalton continues to be a lame-ass school,” Seb tells two boys who must be freshmen— _was I ever really that young looking?,_ Kurt thinks _—_ smiling reverently at him.

Kurt hums thoughtfully as they continue their way around the school grounds. “What is that, the 5th and 6th person to stop and say hi to you?” he says, half jokingly. “Did the Warblers start throwing money at the audience during their performances after I left?”

Seb scoffs even as he puts an arm around Kurt’s waist.

“Sorry to break it to you, babe, but we weren’t that badly hurt by your graduation. I'm just a big shot senior now. You’re lucky you bagged me when you did.”  

Kurt laughs. But then he stops.

He turns and stares thoughtfully at Sebastian, who smirks in that way that means he’s confused. The afternoon sun kisses Sebastian’s cheekbones and collarbones, and Kurt knows he’s looking at the captain of the field lacrosse team—state finalist—, the current undisputed captain of the Warblers—who didn’t win first at Nationals but did get the Best All-Male Group award—, a member of the National Honors Society, and a founding member of Dalton’s newly minted GSA. And Kurt. Kurt is just so fucking _proud._  

Sebastian’s starting to frown. “You know I’m joking right, Princess? I’m not—“

“Let’s go,” Kurt says, taking his hand and striding confidently back to the Warblers’ practice room, which had better be empty or Kurt will make sure to yell loud enough that it becomes empty.

Pity Kurt was a guest and technically no longer allowed in the dorms. He’d try his luck, but Seb was a card-carrying Reformed Bad Boy now.

“Where exactly?” Seb says, dragging his feet. “Dinner’s in half an hour and I wanted to get you back before my meeting tonight.”

“The practice room, because I suddenly have an irresistible urge to worship your cock,” Kurt says.

Sebastian unsurprisingly, comes along, and very enthusiastically participates in this plan.

***

“Guess what I got in my email this morning,” Sebastian sing-songs, grinning maniacally. Kurt counts, but it’s still at least a month out from college decisions. Which means—

“You got accepted as summer intern at the New York ACLU office!” Kurt squeals.

Sebastian pouts. “I was setting up the big _reveal_ there, babe. I was going to complain about how they preferred college students and everything.”

Kurt laughs, “Oh, please, your dad pulled strings.” He feels like he should be upset at the nepotism, except Sebastian’s dad had told Kurt directly on the phone he’d be glad if Seb was with Kurt this summer in New York, and it means that regardless of what happened with college letters, they’ll have those three months together _._

“But I know it was still hard, and I’m proud of you,” Kurt adds, because he _is_.

Seb scoffs, but he can’t hide the blush that rises to his cheekbones. “Well, they get free labor out of it. Sucks it’ll be in nonprofit law, but given the experience with the fundraiser and the Dalton GSA, it was my best bet. Certainly makes my dad happy.”

Kurt smiles, because he has the sneaking suspicion that actually, Sebastian will like the ACLU far more than the business law firm he was trying to talk his way into.

“I won’t have much time though, they told me it wasn’t going to be a coffee-and-copying internship,” Sebastian warns, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“I’m _also_ going to be working, Your Smugness,” Kurt shoots back, even though in his head, he _was_ making plans. Sunset picnics in Central Park, vintage shopping in East Village while Seb sipped his iced frappe and complained, late nights in Brooklyn, even later nights in the cramped and slightly gross apartment they’ll certainly be sharing in June—he’d have to put together a calendar. Which he’d have to hide from Seb or be mocked for it all summer.

“NYADA-backed summer performance camp for underprivileged kids, yada yada, very moving, yada, I’ve been volunteering all year and they offered me the position _before_ applications opened _,_ yada yada, I remember,” Seb waves it away. “Honestly, I can’t _wait_ to see the kids ruin your clothes.”

“I’ll make you go with me to buy more,” Kurt says. He tries for exasperated, but it’s ruined by the fact that he can’t _stop smiling_. In fact, he thinks Sebastian deserves a reward and congratulations.

Kurt flashes a wicked smile.

“Speaking of gifts from you… I may or may not have finally put that Valentine’s Day gift Hunter ordered in your name for me to use recently,” he offers breezily.

He still remembers the luridly pink box that he’d pick up from the mailroom Valentine’s Day afternoon, and the raised eyebrow he’d gotten from Jose—his roommate, because if he had to room with Rachel, as much as he loved her, he’d have murdered her the first time she swooned and stepped on his Hermes scarf.

Kurt had stared at the brand-new blue silicone vibe in confusion for half an hour, because Sebastian would just say if he wanted to switch things up. And anyway, three tickets from Ohio to New York for Kurt’s family to come up for spring break had already popped into his inbox this morning that he knows he’s not supposed to comment on.

 Then Sebastian had called Kurt and bitched out Hunter.

 Sebastian’s eyes grow hot.  
  
“Is Jose out?” he asks, leaning into the screen.

“Yeah, and he’s probably at his booty call’s,” Kurt says, putting on his sultry chest voice. “And Rachel’s busy with an important recital tomorrow, so I’m _all free,_ and feeling incredibly happy and grateful _._ How should I show you?”

“By taking off all your clothes, and grabbing lube and that toy so I can tell you how to use it. I’ve been too stressed to even masturbate. It’s been like, five days, and it’s killing me,” Seb says back, and his hand drops out of view. Kurt rolls his eyes, because why does he even bother with the seduction sometimes.

“Fine,” he says. He locks the door, closes the blinds, and does just that. 

***

_Sebastian and Kurt fight, because of course they do, and they fight hard. They’re not cute sweet fights, they’re screaming and ugly and leave Kurt crying in his room thinking this was all a mistake._

_But Kurt calls, or Sebastian calls, and for Kurt, it’s not because he’s too stubborn, but because not speaking to Sebastian about the crazy voice coach or the insane winning outfit from Project Runway yesterday physically hurts._

_They put the work in. They communicate, even if it’s in fits and starts and liable to devolve into as much yelling and crying as the initial fight._

***

“Right, so _explain_ to me again why it’s so necessary for a guy purportedly monogamous to be going to a gay club,” Kurt says hotly. He can feel tears beading in the corners of his eyes again.

“Get off your fucking high horse, Kurt!” Seb snaps, and while Kurt wisely chose to not have this conversation over webcam, he can almost see Seb pacing up and down his dorm room, kicking his lacrosse bag in the corner. “It’s not like _you don’t._ I see all those Facebook photos!”

“I go to the NYADA spots! With _Rachel_!” Kurt yells back, willfully _not_ thinking about the many boys whose hands have strayed a tad too low and whose eyes flicker up and down his body—and the way he would enjoy it, even though he would never _ever_ let it get too far. “It’s not the same as _you_ just up-and-deciding to go to Scandals again! Which might as well be the Lima equivalent of Craiglist, it even reeks like it.”

 “And why’s _that_? Because I’m such a _slut_ , Kurt?” Seb’s voice is softer, but it has the dangerous edge that means his anger has gone passed the threshold of yelling. “Can’t be having me around all that _temptation_ , even though all _I’m_ trying to do is have fun and take a break from Dalton? If I stare any more at my college portfolio and the Warblers’ winter set, I’ll go fucking crazy. You know, if you don’t trust me—maybe we shouldn’t be trying this after all.”

And something seizes in Kurt’s chest at that. It hurts so much he has to physically sit down on his bed.

The silence stretches through their phones.  
  
“Kurt?” Sebastian says, and something in his voice sounds so young and uncertain now, “Do you really—if you—” 

“I do trust you, I _do_ ,” Kurt says, his voice small and soft now, all splayed out and vulnerable in front of Sebastian. “I just… I’m nervous and afraid. Because they’re there, and I’m here, and it’s so hard for me, and I don’t—I love you, Seb—”

Kurt wipes at his eyes. He wishes Sebastian was here, so he could run his hands up his neck, see the stubbornness in the green eyes of the bastard he loves directly. Instead of having to remind himself constantly Seb was out _there,_ while feeling like his heart was chipping away each day because Sebastian wasn’t _here,_ with him _._

 “I—I love you too,” Sebastian says, and even if it doesn’t flow out smoothly, he says it all the same. “But you have to trust me like I trust you. Even though you’re in New York with your new life and your new friends, and I’m still in Nowheresville, Ohio. If I wanted an open relationship while you were gone, I’d tell you. Like I told you I was going to go to Scandals. I don’t hide.”

Kurt takes a deep breath as Sebastian pauses.

“Okay?” Sebastian asks, firmly. He’s looking for acceptance, not permission.

Kurt bites his lips, wipes his eyes, and wills himself to be. “All right,” Kurt says.

***

“What would you do, if I were going to go to BU?” Sebastian asks, out of nowhere one day while they’re in the middle of a Skype date.

Kurt looks up from where he’s been digging unglamorously into his stir-fry. He’d missed dinner today, and honestly had been paying only the smallest amount of attention to what Sebastian was saying. He’s been letting the familiar sound of his voice sooth away his worry over his performance at this afternoon’s practicum instead.

He blinks at Sebastian. “But I thought—“ he begins, his mind curiously blank. “Wasn’t NYU at the top of your list?”

“Yeah, well, I applied to both, so we’ll hear in about a month, but BU’s honors program is pretty sweet, and would set me up for law school well,” Seb shrugs, but he’s looking to the side so he doesn’t have to meet Kurt’s eyes. “And we don’t exactly need the money, but expensive is still expensive. The college advisor says she’s pretty confident I’ll get that scholarship they have for Midwesterners. And even though Boston isn’t exactly cheap, it’s still better than New York.”

“I—you should go to the place that’s best for you. You know you’re a brilliant student,” Kurt chokes out, finally, because at least this much he really means, even though his heart is sinking on the inside. “But I’d have to stay in New York.”

“Obviously, you love New York,” Seb pauses. “But, what about … _this_?” he waves a hand into the distance between them, faux-careless.

“We’ll commute,” Kurt says, sharply. “All four years if we have to. A couple of hours on the Greyhound are better than a flight to Ohio. I’ll just put on gloves, it can’t be much worse than the metro.”

Sebastian laughs, and it sounds relieved, and Seb’s meeting Kurt’s eyes again. “Please, if I were in Boston, I’d be taking that commute flight. Like I have time to waste half a day when I could be fucking you instead.”

“Anyway,” Sebastian detours suddenly, and Kurt lets him, because he doesn’t want to think too hard about another four years without Seb. “Back to the drama that’s been happening with Wes and Thad. You’ve been following their Facebooks right? Well, in the land of sunshine they’ve up and gone to college at, apparently…”  

***

 “What the fuck’s wrong with the apartment I sent you photos of? I told you, it’s a perfectly sweet two-bedroom in the Upper East Side, and my dad’s friend is willing to cut us a good deal for the summer—” Seb says, the frustration evident in his voice.

Kurt tears his eyes away from all the rental listings he’s been scouring to retort back sharply, “And about two thousand dollars out of my price range.”

He was done with this conversation, like, 30 minutes ago. He just wants to take another look at apartments before he has to work on the song whose high notes he _still_ can’t reach, but Sebastian _won’t shut up_ about this apartment Kurt’s put his foot down on about _not taking._

“Look, Princess, _I_ know I’m rich, _you_ know I’m rich. My dad won’t mind paying, so why are you making me live with you in what’s sure to be a shitty hovel?”

Kurt clicks the red x mark with more violence than his computer deserves, so he can put all his attention into shouting at Sebastian.

“Right, so an apartment _my_ family can actually afford is a _hovel_ now. Sorry we can’t all live by your standards, sorry I’m not up to your standards either,” he yells, and the girl next door bangs violently on his wall. Fuck her, he’s not the one who practices violin at 1 am in the morning. “And here I thought what would it matter, as long as we lived together! I guess I’ll take all the money I was saving up to take you to all my favorite places in New York, and spend it by _myself_ instead!”

“That’s not what I meant—look, of course I want us to live together. But even _you’ve_ been complaining about all the places you’ve been seeing in your budget range. So why the fuck won’t you just let my dad take care of it? He’s so fucking excited, you should hear him go on— _Seb I’m so proud_ and _Make sure to get something nice for Kurt_ and _Jeff remember to clear a weekend for a visit—_ ”

“It’s _precisely_ because your dad adores me that I can’t just go around spending your family’s money!” Kurt shrieks. The girl bangs her wall again.

Maddeningly, Sebastian laughs in his ear. Kurt can _hear_ the smirk. “Babe, I promise, my dad won’t care. Don’t be a drama queen. We know you’re poor, but _no one_ thinks you’re a gold digger, okay?”

And _that smarts._ Fuck Sebastian and his golden spoon, he might not know anything about self-respect and independence, but he doesn’t get to just dismiss _Kurt’s_ real concerns like that. He forgets sometimes, how thoughtlessly cruel Sebastian Smythe can still be.

Instead of saying this out loud, which he knows he’ll regret, Kurt hangs up without saying good-bye.

Kurt turns off his phone and practices until his voice grows hoarse and the girl next-door stops her banging. Jose comes in, takes one look at his face, and scuttles to bed with earplugs in.

He falls asleep fuming.

When he wakes up, there are several missed calls and half a dozen plaintive but demanding “Call me” texts. Because he too, now recognizes he was a _bit_ of a drama queen—if Sebastian is still sometimes cruel, _Kurt_ will admit he sometimes is still needy and bitchy— even if he _still_ thinks he’s right—Kurt does in fact call Sebastian.

“Kurt,” Sebastian begins immediately, after barely the 3rd ring. “I shouldn’t have dismissed what you wanted like that, ok? Sorry.”

Even though it’s short and bratty as far as apologies go, Kurt knows Seb means it, so he lets it go.

“I’m sorry for screaming and hanging up, instead of talking it out too,” Kurt says in reply instead. “But it _is_ important to me that I split the rent with you. Being independent is important to me. I _know_ you care a lot about that too, in a different way—because money doesn’t mean much to you. And that’s fine. But I was raised in different circumstances and it does to me, and I don’t want either your dad or _my_ dad to see you paying for my rent.”

Seb sighs, and Kurt knows he’s won at least a half-concession.

“Fine,” Seb says, sulkily. “But you have to let me pay two-thirds of it—” Kurt’s about to cut in, but Seb continues on anyway, “It’s _sensible,_ Kurt, there’s no point in ignoring that my family _is_ a lot wealthier, and we’d both be more comfortable and argue less in something that’s not the size of a hobbit house.”

“You’re such a nerd, Smythe,” Kurt shoots back, but he’s settled himself to these facts as he walks out the door. They chat inanely about Sebastian’s approaching graduation and whether Kurt’s booked tickets back to Ohio, until Seb has to hang up.  

***

“The college letters came,” Sebastian says, and his voice is too steady, his face is too smooth. Kurt’s been waiting for this Skype call all day, he was so manic in class his instructor told him to _tone down_ his energy—and who tells a musical theatre major to _tone it down_?

But he’s afraid, suddenly, even though Seb also doesn’t look particularly upset.

“All right,” he asks. “And what were the results?”

“I’m not going to NYU,” Sebastian says, simply.

Kurt’s heart sinks. But he pushes his sadness aside as fast as he can, because either Sebastian is disappointed and Kurt needs to be there for him, or Sebastian decided to make a different decision and Kurt needs to be happy for him.

 _It’s fine,_ Kurt reassures himself, and the voice grows more certain the more he thinks about his contingency plans. _We’ll have all summer, and then we’ll commute, even if it’s U Michigan._

“Because,” Sebastian continues blithely on. “I’m going to Columbia.”

Kurt stares at Sebastian, who is starting to break out into the crooked grin that means he’s so happy he can’t muster up either words or a smirk.

And then Kurt starts to cry.

Sebastian’s smile wipes off his face immediately, and he leans forward into the webcam. “Wait—Kurt— _babe_ —come on, Princess,” Seb says. “I didn’t mean to—I only wanted to surprise you. And I didn’t want to disappoint you in case it didn’t pan out. It’s the _Ivy League._ ”

“You still should have told me!” Kurt yells, except he’s also trying to hide a smile behind his hands, because he’s crying _happy_ tears _—and how stupid is that?_ But he’s so relieved and so _so_ happy for Sebastian.

But Kurt does try to pull himself together quickly, because Seb sounded worried. Kurt sniffs and wipes his eyes, looking into the camera with his brightest smile.

Seb flashes a relieved smile back at him.

“Okay, drama queen. In other news,” Sebastian says, “NYU said yes too, and so did BU, though no scholarship, the cheapskates—and obviously all the safeties—but it’s pretty obvious it’s going to be Columbia. They’re even offering me partial financial aid. Big endowments must be worth something after all.”

All Kurt can say in reply is a far too honest, heartfelt, “I’m so glad you’re going to be here with me.”

And at that, Seb just looks at him. Kurt wonders what it is he’s trying to wrestle with. He lets the silence linger, for Seb to have the space to think it through.

Finally, Seb offers, honesty for honesty, “I don’t think I could’ve chosen not to be in New York.”

Kurt feels his eyes water again. He turns away, until he gets himself back under control.

And when he turns back, he’s decided they ought to stop moping about _feelings,_ if only for Sebastian’s sake.

“Let’s get drunk and celebrate the letter,” he says, putting on a slightly watery smile. “I’ll go grab my open bottle, and you can get the wine I know you have stashed in your room."

He gets up from his chair and makes for the mini-fridge in the corner of his room. Hopefully Jose hadn’t helped himself to it.

In the background, he hears Seb yelling, “Don’t get the wussy Moscato!”

**

 _It’s exhausting, sometimes, and lonely a lot of time,_ _and their hard edges haven’t worn away all together, even with each other._

_But Kurt is, somehow, perversely glad of all these facts. It reminds him of how far they’ve come, how much effort they put in, how much they still fit together._

_And_ _whenever Kurt sees Sebastian’s face, the endorphins rush is as strong as it was those first giddy months, and it’s all worth it._

_Kurt thinks sometimes, that a psychoanalyst would have a field day with all their favorite things to do in bed—bondage, bareback, marking. They’d probably read insecurity and lack of trust and abandonment and childhood trauma into them._

_But Kurt thinks of it as them carving their names onto each other’s skins, a little bit deeper each time, to mirror their hearts._

_It probably_ is _a little unhealthy, but that's ok._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to split this abnormally long chapter up, but I figured it was better as a chunk. Due to classes and big events happening next week, there will be no chapter next week—but I'll be back after Thanksgiving. So, hey, that means you get reading material to cozy up with while on break :D
> 
> (please don't hate me)
> 
> Burt continues to be the best dad, and this chapter is so fluffy I almost want to coo at them myself.


	18. Beginning Again (August, 2013)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It’s hard, really, living together, being in each other’s space. The apartment was barely-passable, for all its New York charm, too cramped, with a tiny AC unit for the entire place and mold on the ceiling. The charm wore off after the first week, just like small annoyances crept into Kurt’s fantasy life of living in his first apartment with his boyfriend."
> 
> Kurt is a single child, and Sebastian is also a single child, which is to say that their cohabitation needs work. But when they aren't sniping at each other over small things and being moody about the future, they are adorable, as evidenced by how they celebrate an important relationship milestone - imported food, perfect boyfriends, muggy New York in summer, and lots of dirty dirty sex.

**Beginning Again (August, 2013)**

“You’re back,” Kurt says beatifically, rising from his chair as Sebastian opens their apartment door, his hair matted to his face still from his morning jog.

Sebastian stares at him as if he’s seen a ghost.

“What are you doing up?” he says suspiciously. “Are you mad at me for something?”

“What—no—why would you think that?”

“Because you don’t wake up this early unless someone’s forcing you or I’m giving you a blowjob, and it’s”—Sebastian’s eyes flicker over the clock on their wall—“8 o’clock in the morning.”

“I do _sometimes,_ ” Kurt insists, forcing himself to continue to beam as attractively as possible at Sebastian. He wonders if Sebastian notices Kurt is wearing the slim white shirt Kurt thinks is _way_ too boring but Sebastian loves on him, with enough buttons open that he’s skirting Fabio-levels of collarbone.

“8 o’clock,” Sebastian repeats. “On a Sunday. When most of the time I can’t even get you to brunch.”

The smile’s a lost cause. Kurt scowls. “I just did today, okay? Now, are you going to be difficult, or are you going to change and go with me to that new breakfast place in Soho?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, but he kicks the door closed and wanders past Kurt over to the bathroom, which means his boyfriend is cooperating for once in Kurt’s very difficult life.

As he goes, Kurt notices that his jogger’s shorts are _very_ short, and his worn-out grey tank is sticking _very_ tightly to his wonderful pecs. And then there’s the smell of Seb’s sweat, which he’s _still_ got a Pavlovian response to from high school.

Kurt licks his lips, and then he’s backing Sebastian up against the bathroom door and shoving his hands down Sebastian’s pants, because the reservation is actually a bit closer to brunch-time - Kurt himself is a little amazed he got up this early. They’ve got time.

“Oh _fuck,_ Kurt,” Seb gasps, and then, to his credit, gets with the program very quickly, unzipping Kurt's jeans and pulling out Kurt’s own cock and lining them up for abortive little thrusts, as he groans into their open-mouth kisses.

Kurt pulls Sebastian closer by his ass and pushes back just as hard, letting out a little mewl as he feels the sparks crawl up his spine, shockingly fast. He was feeling too giddy to indulge in his usual morning—relaxation—on Sundays, and so it isn’t taking very long at all. Sebastian, of course, picks up what that mewl means, and Kurt can practically _see_ his smirk as he trails his lips down to Kurt’s sensitive spot on his neck, right at his pulse point.

“Don’t you dare leave a mark,” Kurt grits out. “It’s too hot in August to be wearing a scarf, I’ll look like a lunatic.”

“You could just _not_ wear one, Kurt,” Sebastian says between gasps, as Kurt speeds up their hands, clasped together over them both. “Might help convince some people you’re not prepubescent _and_ capable of getting laid.”

“You’re already the shameless one in this relationship,” Kurt huffs out, “And for some reason, I’m not really hurt by insults about my looks when they’re coming from the person I’m having sex with.”

Seb laughs, but obliges by sucking on his neck only very lightly. Truth be told, it doesn’t feel half as great as when he’s doing it to bruise, but it’s still plenty arousing. Before long, Kurt is throwing his head back and spilling all over Seb’s hand and cock, while Sebastian encourages him with whispers of “ _Kurt_ ” and “ _so fucking sexy”_ and “ _babe”_ and all sorts of other indulgent nonsense that is Sebastian’s sex talk.

He pulls his cock away before it gets too oversensitive, and Sebastian shifts without missing a beat, tightening his grip and moving more furiously. His glazed eyes lock tighter onto Kurt’s flushed face.

Kurt looks down, at where the rosy head peeks through Sebastian’s fist with every thrust. He still feels feverish, wound-up, and he could replace Seb’s hand with his own—it’ll probably take two, three more minutes, max—but somehow it doesn’t feel like enough today, and so he slides onto his knees. Sebastian gives a strangled groan. He licks the entire thing, relishing the precome and _his_ come all over it, and then puts his mouth right over the top and goes down down down. Sebastian’s scent is so much stronger today, and he should be disgusted, but the germophobic part of Kurt’s brain is too awash with lust to yell at him. He can feel Sebastian's dick at the back of his throat, Sebastian’s fingers—still tight around himself—pressing against his lips.

He swallows once, twice, and Sebastian clutches his hair and comes and comes, and comes some more when Kurt pulls off and sucks at the head, so he can really taste it.

When he finally pulls off, with a last swirl to clean everything up, they’re both breathing hard. Sebastian’s hand thumbs his bottom lip, which he knows must be red and swollen, as he says with a note of awe, “I can’t _believe_ I ever thought you could be anything but a total slut.”

Kurt laughs as he tucks both of them away, and then stands up to share a deep kiss. Because Seb is also a total slut, he falls into it entirely, and it’s who knows how much later that Kurt remembers about the reservation and pulls back reluctantly to let the afterglow disperse.

That was an unexpectedly amazing diversion from Kurt’s game plan for today, but that's no reason to let the rest of it go. They had to get going if they had any chance of staying on top of the schedule.

“Go shower, you reek,” Kurt says, wrinkling his nose.

“You didn’t mind just now, are you sure you won’t be waking up this early again?” Sebastian says cheekily, and Kurt blushes, because he hadn't minded at all.

“I like two extra hours of sleep more than your cock, thanks, which I already get plenty of. But go and I might be convinced to do this again some time,” Kurt says, sternly.

Sebastian mutters “bossy bottom” under his breath, but he does go and get ready. Kurt turns to the full-length mirror in their bedroom—which, to be honest, isn't even a room, it's separated from their living room slash kitchen only by a cheap Japanese folding screen—and despairs over his ruined hair and rumpled shirt. Luckily, his skills had been polished after years of constantly being on the verge of lateness, and by the time Sebastian was done showering and dressing, the damage had been all but erased.

He turns around, expecting to cajole Sebastian into changing at least one article of clothing on his body to mark the occasion, except Sebastian is—perfect. He’s wearing a tight khaki green shirt, one of Kurt’s favorite on him, jeans that hug his mile-long legs, and even ditched the boat shoes for proper loafers.

Sebastian smirks and opens the door for him.

“Ladies first,” he says extravagantly. Kurt rolls his eyes but takes his hand as they head out the door, to what he hopes is their _perfect_ summer day.

The brunch is delicious, and for once, Kurt sidesteps their constant fight over who will grab the check and lets Sebastian take care of it, because he knows it puts Sebastian in a good mood. He had thought the next part—shopping—was going to be a little tough, even after Kurt made sure to put in stops at “amazing” athletic wear stores (which is a total oxymoron). Except Sebastian doesn’t complain at all, not even when Kurt spends too long at a vintage store that has _rows_ of high quality waistcoats that just need a bit of tailoring. Then they get to the overpriced gourmet food store, where Kurt informs Sebastian about the picnic lunch they're going to have in Central Square. Sebastian somehow holds himself back from mocking nauseating romantic rituals, and instead picks out cheese (French) and wine (also French) and bread (baquette, of course) and fruits (not French, but organic), with a serious frown on his face. Sebastian pays for their lunch too, since his fake ID is more convincing, but _then_ he considerately offers to let Kurt pay for dinner later.

By the time they make it to Central Park, and Sebastian refrains from making a _single_ snide remark about the people around them, Kurt thinks his boyfriend must’ve been replaced by some romance-sex bot while he was sleeping last night.

“I didn’t melt your brain this morning, did I?” Kurt says, frowning at him from where he’s sitting on the picnic blanket he's been carrying around in his canvas tote all day.

Sebastian scowls down at him immediately, and thank God, there’s that easy irritation Kurt knows and loves.

“Your blowjobs have gotten better since that first time when you almost bit my dick off, but they’re not _that_ good,” Seb says, and Kurt pouts because he only grazed him with his teeth a _couple_ of times, “Sorry for being in a _good mood._ Here I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and pulls Sebastian by the hand down onto the blanket with him. He goes, but in the sulkiest way possible.

“I _am_ enjoying myself,” Kurt says, and backs it up with a quick peck, “But I’m also missing the version of my asshole boyfriend who thinks he’s wittier than Elizabeth Bennett even though his jokes are actually totally lame. This one’s too perfect to laugh at.”

“Can you not remind me I’m dating someone who references _Jane Austen_?” Sebastian complains, and he barely has time to retort, “Well, you _got_ the reference,” before Sebastian is pushing Kurt down onto the blanket for lazy kisses.

Kurt thinks the PDA should bother him, but the sun is warm on his back and he picked a quiet-enough-for-New-York corner, so he lets Sebastian do as he pleases.

He spends the afternoon laughing uncontrollably over snarky comments about the other park goers, taking ridiculous selfies, and listening to happy childhood memories he's surprised he hadn't heard. The wine he’s drinking openly—which he’d be worried about except everyone else at the park was doing it too, it was just one of those days—moves through his body and leaves him sweet and warm. By the time he notices the sun was setting, they were on the verge of missing their evening reservations and had to scramble to make it there in time.

It’s a shabby Chinese place where as much Mandarin is spoken as English, crammed full of waiters and occupied tables. Even though a _year_ has passed since he discovered this place, Kurt grew up in Ohio, and so good Chinese food will probably forever remain a bit of a revelation to him. Kurt peeks at Sebastian over amazing soup dumplings, and smiles af the symbolism even though he's sure Sebastian won't remember this is where they had their first meal together in New York.

When it’s time for dessert, Sebastian signals immediately for the check, and runs his feet up Kurt's legs with a hot gaze.

Kurt forgoes his dessert, but only because getting back into bed had been his plan anyway.

They walk home too-close together, and the moment they’re inside the apartment, doing that cliché thing where they’re slamming doors and scrambling for each other’s clothes.

Kurt quickly gets sprawled all over the bed with Sebastian’s weight pressing down on him. He hears the familiar snick of the lube bottle opening, and automatically spreads his legs, already panting. Except then there's a soft laugh of amusement, a low teasing “Eager, are we?”, and Sebastian is rising up and reaching _behind himself_ and groaning softly.

 _Fuck,_ Kurt goes from hard to incredibly hard in a single beat. They _do_ switch, sometimes, and they actually don’t have anal sex that often anyway, given their demanding internships and how long it takes and how sore it leaves both even when they're incredibly careful. But still—Sebastian doesn't do this on a regular basis. Kurt loves it the other way, he really does, but this way round, it always feels a little different, a bit hesitant, a bit more exposed.

“Let me do it,” Kurt says, taking up the bottle from where Seb left it and slicking up his own fingers. He knows Seb always goes a little too fast on his own body. Sebastian smiles and obliges, leaning forward to give Kurt a better angle. But Seb doesn’t linger there. The moment Kurt feels that he's longer meeting resistance, Sebastian is lining himself up and moving down in one long unyielding push. Kurt can feel, with his hands on Seb's ass and abs to steady him, the long exhale as he settles.

Sebastian watches Kurt then, and suddenly the tawdry tease from earlier tonight is nowhere to be found. Kurt feels himself responding in kind, the silence in the room and the traffic noise of the city and the body heat of this gorgeous boy he’s got in his hands burning low somewhere deep in him. They move together, slowly, slowly, and their eventual orgasms leave them like a wave pulling out to sea.

When they’re done, Sebastian collapses next to Kurt and gathers him close, and for once, Kurt doesn’t mind the heat.

“Happy second year anniversary,” Sebastian whispers into his hair, and Kurt clutches his sweat-slicked skin and laughs and laughs and laughs.

“When did you remember?” He asks, because he knows Sebastian doesn’t remember things like the date when Hunter’s idiotic dare brought them together, and Kurt would bet his favorite coat Seb hadn’t remember it by himself this time either.

“A couple of days ago, when Hunter asked me if I was planning to serenade you _this year_ for it.”

Kurt laughs again, because he remembers their first anniversary. His big move to New York had been just around the corner, and consequently he was desperate to pull every last scrap of affection he could get from Sebastian before he left, in case it was his final chance. He dropped hint after hint about it, even enlisting some of the Warblers to “casually” offer to help Seb work on a grand statement, like, oh, say, an acapella serenade.

Except Sebastian hadn't taken any of the hints, and Kurt spent the entire day looking over his shoulder and getting more and more mopey each time he didn’t see anything. But that night, after they moved past passive-aggressively angry sex and who-cares-Seb-shows-love-differently sex, Kurt had been basically over the entire thing. Except then, Seb had pulled him closed, and sang the words to “Say a Little Prayer” into the space between them. And Kurt had kissed him and kissed him, because otherwise he would’ve cried.

Kurt hums the refrain a little bit now, and Sebastian quirks a smile.

“I kept waiting for you to say something about this weekend, and then Saturday passed, and I thought you’d just forgotten. But then you were wearing my favorite clothes on you at 8 o’clock in the morning, so,” he said.

“Well, thanks for playing along to me trying to sneak a celebration pass you, I guess,” he said, rolling his eyes. “At least now I know what that freaky perfect-boyfriend act was all about.”

It’s Sebastian’s turn to roll his eyes, though he’s still drawing circles onto Kurt’s lower back and so there’s no bite to it. “You’re so fucking high maintenance. I was literally doing _everything_ you complain during fights I _should_ do.”

Kurt huffs. “Well, yeah, and I mean it, but—not all the way. It was just creepy as hell.”

“Aw, babe, are you saying you like me _just as I am_?” Sebastian coos, and Kurt mock-pushes him away, and then pulls him tightly back.

“I’m going to miss this,” he admits to Sebastian, to himself.

He’s not sure if he means this apartment, or if he means the summer. Both, probably.

It’s hard, really, living together, being in each other’s space. The apartment was barely-passable, for all its New York charm, too cramped, with a tiny AC unit for the entire place and mold on the ceiling. The charm wore off after the first week, just like small annoyances crept into Kurt’s fantasy life of living in his first apartment with his boyfriend.  

Though it was only a sublet, they had put effort into putting trinkets on display, only what Kurt got Sebastian _hated,_ and what Sebastian got Kurt found boring. Kurt yelled at Sebastian every time he tripped over clothes strewn carelessly on the floor. Sebastian couldn’t stand how clean Kurt kept the kitchen and living room. Kurt’s job and Sebastian’s internship were equally intensive, and so they spent less time together than they would’ve wanted actually awake, let alone outside their tiny apartment. When they did go out, Kurt found himself insecure around the whip-smart older interns and staffers who’d clearly taken Seb under their wings, and Seb found himself loud and exaggerated around the NYADA kids who stuck around in the summer and who talked about a side of Kurt’s life Sebastian didn't know. If Rachel weren't in California shooting her pilot right now, Kurt thinks Seb would've actually been _glad_ to hang out with her, just to be around someone who knew both their high school selves. 

Even sleeping in the same bed became a hassle over time—as it turns out when sex isn’t involved, neither of them liked sleeping next to another person very much. It was too hot and their sleeping schedules didn’t sync. 

If pressed, Kurt would admit to being a slight bit relieved they were moving out, before these petty fights escalated and someone ended up sleeping on the futon couch.

And yet—he'll still miss this. It was still amazing, because he was with Sebastian again. They've made so many incredible memories here, together and apart, and Kurt will never be able to think of this summer without thinking of this tiny hot apartment.

He hadn’t been consciously thinking about it, but maybe this perfect summer day isn’t just for their two years together, maybe it’s also a goodbye to the apartment and their immortal summer.

Next week, Sebastian will be out of this room and in his Columbia dorm for orientation. Kurt will be back in NYADA housing early. They were going to have to learn how to fit each other into brand new lives again. 

Kurt wonders if Sebastian’s looming October birthday hovers at the dark edges of his consciousness too, like it does in Kurt’s.

“Can we seriously not throw away that hideous paisley armchair when we leave though?" Sebastian says, out of nowhere. "The sewing machine I can get the movers to cart back to your dorm, but that armchair is ugly beyond words,” And maybe it’s just a distraction, but Kurt laughs anyway, because how much Sebastian hates paisley genuinely does amuse him.

“Do it and I’ll cut up your favorite polo shirt. And then I’ll tell Jose, because he spent days reupholstering it for me and he’ll hate you,” Kurt says breezily, the melancholy mood that overcame him rapidly dispelling.

He can feel Sebastian’s sigh underneath him. “All right, fine. Can’t have the roommate hating me right off the bat.”

“Everyone will love you,” Kurt reassures him, and pushes up for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was worth the wait! Have some fluff, have some porn, have some hints of the truckload of angst coming.
> 
> I am SO sorry for the literal 3-month long silence. It's been a mess, but I finally got some creativity back, the space where writing is stress-relieving but not too stressful and work not so urgent I can't put it aside a bit to write. This chapter is literally right off the press, so I'll probably be coming back in a couple of days to clean up small typos etc. 
> 
> I can't promise more fic quickly because I'm closing in on my thesis, and while I have a lot of the end written up, unfortunately there's quite a lot of fic in between to write. But they will be coming, just unpredictably! But this fic WILL be finished. The best way to keep updated is probably to subscribe to the story.
> 
> Serenade: ["Say a Little Prayer"](https://youtu.be/lyrEsJLQa-c) by Lianne La Havas (and the exquisite [ original](https://youtu.be/KtBbyglq37E) by Aretha Franklin, which is just a bit too fast for my use here)
> 
> (Someday I'll write their first anniversary).


	19. What it Means to Stay (October, 2013)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The last time he visited Sebastian, he’d stood in front of his closet and pushed past the perfect skirt to go with his blazer with a pinprick of discomfort. The moment he’d realized what he was doing, Kurt had immediately doubled-back for it and strutted around wearing it the entire afternoon he was at Columbia, but. He’d promised himself, back before he came to New York, that he was never going to be that insecure closeted boy again, and visiting Sebastian always felt like going back in a time machine."

**What It Means to Stay (October, 2012)**

Sebastian picks up the second time he calls.

“Hey, babe, sorry about that, just got back, ” he says, and Kurt’s heart sinks. He’s starting to really hate hearing that that soft, weary tone in Sebastian’s voice. “I was about to call you.”

“You’re not coming over tonight,” Kurt says, and it isn’t a question. Next to him, Rachel makes a pitying noise and snuggles closer.    

“I can’t,” Sebastian says, and it doesn’t help that he sounds as upset as Kurt. “We have to file an emergency amicus brief tomorrow, so I had to stay late to write up a precedence memo. And I’ve got a response paper I haven’t even started the readings for due tomorrow.”

“We’ve had these plans for a _week_ , Sebastian,” he says, and he doesn’t mean to sound so vicious, it just comes out that way. “You couldn’t have done it any time in the past—”

“We only made these plans because _you_ canceled on me last week,” Sebastian bites back. Kurt opens his mouth to retort that it wasn’t _his_ fault his show’s director called an extra rehearsal last-minute, but Seb sighs, and he sounds so tired all of a sudden that the words wither on Kurt’s tongue.

“I did mean to do it early,” Seb says. “But I accidentally fell asleep after I came back from conditioning. Then I figured I could do it before our dinner, but the memo came out of nowhere and took fucking forever.”

Kurt breathes, and tries to let his anger go. Kurt might wish Sebastian would just _choose_ among lacrosse, internship, pre-law society, and art program volunteering; but he knows Sebastian _is_ busy, and that Sebastian’s trying his best, just like he knows he’s being hypocritical. He remembers that freshman rush to join anything and everything, when the world’s opportunities seemed like they were at your feet. He imagines at Columbia, that would actually be _true_.    

There’s a thump and a creak as Sebastian throws himself down on his bed.

“Look, come over Friday,” Sebastian says, and he’s pressing charm and persuasion into his voice. “I know you’ve got rehearsal until late, but come over afterwards. The tiny bunk bed sucks, but I can tell Paul to disappear. And you can come with me to the party with the girl’s team. I’m supposed to show my face, but if you’re not there I might break out into hives at the hetero-ness.”

“I can’t” tumbles out of Kurt’s mouth almost before he’s aware of it.

There’s a dead silence. He adds, quickly, “Sorry, I just—um, I think I’ll be too tired. After.”

It sounds weak even to him.

When Sebastian speaks again, the exhaustion’s given way to full-blown anger. “What the fuck is your problem, Kurt?” he asks. “You can get on a plane to Ohio, but you can’t even bother taking the 1 over? Your single isn’t so nice I’m going to keep ditching everything to come! You’re not the only one who has a busy life.”

“That’s not—I _know_ you’re busy,” Kurt says, stunned, and—and guilty. He knows most of the time, it _is_ Sebastian who comes, but. Kurt really is trying his best too, he just really can’t—

He doesn’t have the words to describe to Sebastian the way it feels to walk through the gleaming stone and polished wood of his campus. To talk to his teammates and have them call Kurt “Sebastian’s girl” while smirking like they think they’re being good little liberals. To hear Paul say in a faux put-upon voice that he “went to Exeter” and it was “so basic,” as if that name was supposed to mean something to Kurt.

The last time he visited Sebastian, he’d stood in front of his closet and pushed past the perfect skirt to go with his blazer with a pinprick of discomfort. The moment he’d realized what he was doing, Kurt had immediately doubled-back for it and strutted around wearing it the entire afternoon he was at Columbia, but. He’d promised himself, back before he came to New York, that he was never going to be that insecure closeted boy again, and visiting Sebastian always felt like going back in a time machine.

But Seb likes his roommate and he likes his teammates and he _loves_ his college, and Kurt doesn’t want to make a mountain of nothing. It feels weird, not sharing things with Sebastian, but it's only Kurt’s problem.

“Let’s just reschedule, okay? Some time this week, we’ll go somewhere between our two campuses,” Kurt says instead, because pursuing this was going to get them nowhere. In his head, Kurt’s reviewing his schedule, and wincing at the lack of space, but he’ll make it work. He’ll shift things around.

“Fine, I’ll check my schedule and text you.” Seb says. He still sounds angry, but evidently he’s also decided to let it drop. “I’m going to go. It’s late, I'm going to have to start the readings if I want to catch enough sleep tonight.”

Kurt turns to look at the bedside clock, which tells him it’s already past 8.

“Okay,” he says, trying to inject a smile into his voice. “Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yes, _mom,_ I picked up a slice on the way back _._ Good night.” He can hear Sebastian’s eye-roll, but he can’t tell if it’s good-natured or annoyed. He hates that he can’t tell.

Seb hangs up, and Kurt sighs, leaning close into Rachel’s warmth and feeling so so alone.

This isn’t where he’d thought they’d be, a mere week away from Sebastian’s 18th birthday.

Rachel shifts to put her hand around his shoulder and pull him even tighter to her. “He’s missing out anyway, Kurt. You look hot tonight.”

Kurt laughs. He feels silly now, coming over to check out Rachel’s new apartment and also not so secretly show off his date clothes. But he’d been feeling happy, it’s been over a week and a half since he last saw Sebastian.

“Tell me you’ve got tequila,” he says, moving off the floor and going for her cabinets.

And because Rachel has issues of her own right now—her thing with Jesse St. James crashed and burnt like Kurt fucking warned her it would, her parents were divorcing, her pilot failed spectacularly—she got out the tequila and two shot glasses.

He knocks back a drink, which becomes two, and then three, and then he lost count. Before he knows it, Rachel and he were sprawled on her double bed, her studio pleasantly blurred around the edges.

“You should get roommates, you know,” he says, “This apartment’s too big and expensive for someone who’s not actually a TV star.”

Rachel slaps his shoulder too hard, because she’s never been able to take a joke at her expense. “No, it’s the apartment of a _rising Broadway star._ And my parents owe me for the divorce trauma.”

Kurt smiles, and he tries not to make it too bitter. “Well, I’m glad you’re still living that New York dream.”

She looks at him carefully, and then she slots herself against his side and throws an arm around his waist.

“No, I’m not,” she says, so quietly. “You are. You’re the one with the lead in NYADA’s big semester production, I’m going to class pretending not to hear people whisper about how I’m not too good to come back.”

Kurt grips the hand on his waist tight. “You’re a thousand time better than those clawing wannabes. They wish they could’ve gotten the opportunity you did.”

Rachel squeezes his hand back, then lets go.

“I wasn’t kidding, Kurt,” she says. “Your life _is_ everything you’ve told me about, back in Lima, down to the Tom Ford coat.”

Kurt swallows, because he can feel a lump forming in the back of his throat. He wants to say without Sebastian, none of that _matters,_ but he knows that would be hysterical, even for him.

“I just—I thought it would be easier with the both of us in New York. But it’s like we’re even farther apart now. At least in Ohio, we had the distance as an excuse, when we couldn’t see each other.”

He squeezes his eyes and breathes shallowly around a hiccup.

“Is this,” he asks, “Is this what it felt like?—with Finn?”

What he means is, is this is how beautiful, all-consuming relationships die? Agonizing piece by agonizing piece? They’re drifting apart, he knows, they’re a cliché. The hurt is there, like it is whenever he goes too long without seeing Sebastian. But it’s familiar now, too, just like the silence of things unsaid. He wonders if in time, the hurt will fade into the background, until one day he won’t even notice it's there, until one day it really won’t be.

Kurt thinks back to the sepia days of getting stuck under each other's feet in their cramped apartment, of seeing too much of Seb, and feels an overwhelming amount of self-pity.

Rachel’s silent. She’s silent for a long long time.

“I always thought I would eventually get back together with Finn,” she says, finally, and Kurt turns back at her in shock, because he didn’t know that. “When all’s said and done, when I had a Tony or an Emmy or a Grammy and he finally got tired of Lima. Except the last time I went back to Lima, I saw him and his Found girlfriend, and they seemed so _easy_ together, like we've never been. And I finally realized it wasn’t ever going to happen.”

She smiles, even though her eyes are glossy, and his Rachel is one of the bravest people he knows.

“We’re going to live our dreams, Kurt, no matter what. We _will,_ ” she says fiercely, and he hugs her tight, murmuring, “You’ve never been easy in your life,” and they giggle on the floor there, wrapped up together like they used to be in Lima.

* * *

 

Kurt wakes up the next morning with a world-splitting headache and his cell phone ringing like gongs inside his head. He stumbles out of Rachel’s embrace and rummages around the floor until he triumphantly holds his phone in hand.

The moment his mind registers _Meerkat,_ he’s pressing the answer button and listening in. 

“Where the fuck are you, Princess? The guard keeps on giving me suspicious looks,” Sebastian whines, the rush of New York traffic all around him. “Come down and get me.”

Kurt blinks and looks at the clock, which tells him it’s 30 minutes until his film history section.

“Oh my God!” he yelps, and begins to dance around the room collecting his stuff. There was nothing for him to do but wear last night’s clothes, but at least we wouldn’t be known as the boy who wore the same outfit _twice,_ since he changed before he got to Rachel’s. There was nothing to be done about the red eyes and the smell of booze.

“I got up early for this! Hurry up!” Sebastian is still griping, and that makes Kurt pause in his tracks.

“The office gave me a stupid delivery errand past your way this morning,” Seb huffs. “So I stopped by that overpriced coffee shop you like and got you a nonfat mocha and cheesecake.”

Kurt's heart gives a painful squeeze, and he says, "I can't."

“Fine, _I’ll_ eat the cheesecake instead, apologies for feeding you sweets for breakfast,” Sebastian says, and this eye-roll is fond, Kurt can hear it.

“No, I mean—I really _can’t._ I’m not home. I slept over at Rachel’s yesterday,” Kurt clarifies.

“Ah,” Sebastian says, and then nothing else. Finally, there’s a rush of air against the speaker, and he says, “That’s fine. I’ve got to get to my lecture, so I’ll leave the cheesecake with the guard. You can pick it up during lunchtime if you’re back. Your coffee order is disgusting but I’ll drink it this time.”

“Okay, I—thanks. I’ll see you this week? ” Kurt fumbles out.

Seb sighs again. There’s silence, and when Sebastian speaks, it’s deeply reluctant.

“Honestly, I'm also here because I wanted to tell you this in-person so you wouldn’t hate my guts,” he says, and Kurt’s stomach sinks. “I forgot the pre-law society had an event next week, and they’re telling me it'll be busy at the office too. So I’m not going to be able to see you until—after. My birthday.”

As if Sebastian had to clarify. There was no other After.

Kurt tries to breath around the renewed pain in his head.

“I suppose we can’t do anything about it,” he forces out cheerily. “I’ll see you the day after then, like we planned? You’ll come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sebastian says, and is it Kurt’s imagination or does he sound preoccupied already? Distant?

 _Stop,_ Kurt tells himself firmly. He reminds himself that he already knows—for however much value there was in that—that Sebastian’s Name won’t be his. Seb’s already even bought his sleek black ring. And still, Seb got up early this morning, whether or not there was a real errand, and came down to Kurt’s dorm to deliver him breakfast. And now he’s making post-birthday plans with Kurt.

Kurt hates this. _He hates this._ He hates the missed connections that keep stacking up between them lately, sowing doubt and awkwardness, and how could they possibly overcome Sebastian’s Name with their relationship like this? 

“I miss you,” Kurt says, because he needs Sebastian to know, and _Fuck,_ it was too early to cry. He thought he’d shed all the tears he had last night.

“I know,” Sebastian says, his voice going soft and gentle, “Now go before you miss your film section.”

Kurt’s eyes snap back to the clock. He yelps, because now he has _20 minutes._

“Love you, bye!” he says, and shuts the phone on Seb’s laugh, and a cut-off “Bye to you too, Sleeping Princess, love—”


	20. Second Crossroads (Oct, 2013 / Feb, 2021)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kurt looks at her face, at her lips pressed thin and her eyes tight around the corners, and wonders why she looks so upset when he—they—are still young and still here, dancing through New York."
> 
> Sebastian's 18th birthday had to come some time.

**Second Crossroads (October, 2013)  
**

Sebastian’s birth time comes and goes.

Kurt stays up late, because Sebastian was a late-night baby. He'd sent an early birthday message this morning, but Seb hadn't sent back a response, and Kurt hadn’t expected him to.

It’s maddening. His phone keeps buzzing, but it’s all people checking in on him. Rachel, Santana, Finn, Trent, his dad, David, _Sebastian’s_ dad, Mercedes, even fucking _Hunter—_

He checks every single message and picks up every call, on the slim chance that one of them has an update from Sebastian. But none of them do, and as the night wears on, he becomes increasingly upset and they become increasingly worried, and finally he just puts his phone on silent. Who is he kidding, if Sebastian hasn’t told him, then he won’t have told anyone yet.

He falls asleep still watching the phone, but knowing deep-down, with a weary expectant sense of disappointment, that a call isn’t coming.

Maybe Kurt had heard that distracted quality in Sebastian’s voice right, after all. Maybe his green eyes had snagged on someone else in the past couple of weeks and Kurt just hadn't know. Maybe Sebastian was just ready to move on from Kurt and the challenge of their relationship. Maybe it even felt a little bit like a reprieve to Sebastian, watching someone else’s Name—a stranger, a classmate, whomever—run across his finger.

Kurt doesn’t let himself wonder if it feels a little bit like a reprieve to him too.

He wakes up the next morning with swollen eyes he nurses, and he goes out and parties for the next two nights like it’s his first weekend in New York City, and he finally stumbles out of some nightclub at 3 AM in the toned arms of a cute boy in his contemporary dance class and falls straight into Rachel’s warm hands. Kurt looks at her face, at her lips pressed thin and her eyes tight around the corners, and wonders why she looks so upset when he—they—are still young and still _here_ , with the lights of New York all around them.

* * *

**Second Crossroads (February, 2021)**

Blaine rushes on. “So, right. I thought we should meet to talk things over. I hear you’d be in the Village? There’s a really nice coffee shop, on the corner of 8th and Washington. Do you know that one?”

“Yeah, I know the one,” Kurt says again. Sebastian and Kurt went often, when Seb dropped by to pick him up from rehearsal.

“So let’s meet there then. At three maybe?” 

There’s silence.

“Okay,” Kurt says, finally 

As he’s changing out of his sweats, on his way to meet Blaine, he sends Sebastian a text and almost doesn’t feel bad about omitting Blaine's name.

_Meeting someone. Might be home late. Don’t wait up._

Then, half a second later.

_I love you._

He waits in the café, his coffee cup shaking in his hands. The cheesecake, meant to settle his stomach, sits on the table, two bites taken out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo. So I was sitting bored on a flight and not wanting to do my work, and what do you know, turns out procrastination is an excellent way to creativity. Again this is hot off the press, so excuse any typos. 
> 
> This was hard. Because I was being mean, because I felt like I was covering a lot, and also because I just wasn't quite sure where to place the 18th birthday scene—at the end of the last chapter, to thematically tie it all together? Opposite the future scene, to echo the last reveal? I decided I would just not tease you guys too too much, and do it opposite the future scene but post the two chapters in one week instead! Let me know if you like the effect or if you have thoughts. 
> 
> Expect the next chapter by March 12th. By my reckoning, there are 5 long chapters left, give or take, 3 of which are written and 2 of which are unwritten. So I'm almost there!


	21. Faith (October 2013)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " 'Usually his abandonment and trust issues are great for me, they're the bedrock of our continued friendship. But he's been no fun lately, and I'm here to tell you to man up and fucking fix it. It's not like you didn't know what you were buying,' Hunter finishes."
> 
> Hunter is a surprisingly effective Cupid.

**Faith (October, 2013)**

Hunter steps directly into Kurt's path the moment he steps outside his dorm.   
  
He attempts to loom over him, his wool coat whipping menacingly around him in the brisk fall breeze and a dark look on his face.

But he's only a scant inch taller than Kurt, and still has that terrible 60s hair, and Kurt no longer feels like wasting headspace or time on any spoiled rich brats.

Kurt laughs in his face. 

"Thank you for this dubious honor, Hunter. But get out of my way. Unlike people who got into college on legacy admissions, I actually have to attend my classes," Kurt sneeres, and neatly sidesteps him.

Maybe Hunter is here to yell at Kurt about Sebastian, or maybe he's just here to gloat that he was right about their doomed romance, but Kurt doesn't want to hear it. 

He makes it two steps before Hunter swerves right to block him again, even throwing up an arm in front of Kurt's chest.   
  
"What is wrong with you?" Kurt snaps, at the same moment as Hunter shouts, "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?"  
  
Kurt raises his eyebrows at the audacity.  
  
" _I'm_ not here stalking someone who has avoided seeing me for the past 3 months, even when—" he starts, and then cuts himself off.  
  
"When Sebastian hung out with me at NYU, yes, yes," Hunter says, waving a dismissive hand. "And it broke his tiny heart into tiny pieces to see his boyfriend refuse to step near his best friend for him. Whatever, we all know that you're a bitch. But I didn't know you were a _vicious_ little bitch. "

He stares Kurt down. "Why the fuck haven't you called Sebastian?" 

Kurt's face contorts, and he looks away, because Hunter doesn't deserve to see his face when he thinks of Sebastian

 "I'm not talking about this with you. Excuse me, " Kurt says shortly. He pushes through the arm in front of him hard enough that Hunter actually stumbles, more out of surprise than any real strength on Kurt's part, and begins to walk away rapidly.   

"You're an ungrateful asshole, Hummel!" Hunter shouts after him. "If you were going to be too selfish and bloodless to work for it, you could've told him straight up, so Sebastian wouldn't have sat through all the fucking times your manic girlfriend and cast of misfits were shitty to him, and then made excuses for you when you wouldn't even come to his fucking dorm party because I was going to be there!"

And that—Kurt thinks his mind literally whites out with rage for a moment, because the next thing he knows,  _he's_  the one pushing into Clarington's personal space.

"Don't overestimate yourself, Clarington," he hisses, "I might not like you because, oh right, you're an _idiot_ with a _substance problem—_ " At that, Hunter's face goes slack with shock, and then red with anger, or maybe humiliation, and Kurt thinks he should feel bad about using that time Sebastian spoke to him over Skype with sunken eyes and rehab pamphlets splayed out on his bed this way.

Except Hunter is right. Kurt  _is_ a vicious little bitch, and so he continues blithely on, "—But why I didn't attend that day had _nothing_ to do with you. If you can't sew up your ignorant mouth, I can do it for you. Who are _you_ to tell me I didn't _work for it?_ When every single fucking day of the last two years, every single time we fight and I look at my hand and _choose_ to go back to Sebastian—"

And horrifyingly, his tongue, always loose in anger, turns against himself, and he's revealing terrible vulnerabilities, things he hadn't even said in front of Rachel or his dad, no matter how many worried looks are gentle encouragementss they gave him. He bites down on the words tumbling out and turns, before Hunter sees the sheen in his eyes, and there's no way he's having a meltdown in front of Hunter.

"So what changed?" Hunter says, shockingly matter-of-fact, without a trace of anger at the dig Kurt just made. "Why aren't you working for it now then?" 

He moves in front of Kurt, staring at him defiantly, his stance military straight.

"Why aren't you calling?" Hunter repeats. 

Kurt's never seen this tense and strangely implacable Hunter, and to face him after throwing the most hurtful thing Kurt could think of at him, all Kurt's anger slowly leeches out of him. They stand there staring at each other in the cold wind.

Finally, Kurt replies, "He said he would call," his voice sounding stupid and defeated even to him.

Hunter snorts.

"What the fuck is this, kindergarten?" Hunter says, and puts on his head voice, "Y _ou said you'd_ _do it! No, you said you'd do it!"_

Kurt flushes. Hunter must see, too, because he smirks like he's won something.

"If you aren't too emotionally constipated to realize," Hunter begins, "Your boyfriend is also emotionally constipated, as well as deeply fucked up."

"I know that," Kurt snaps, because _he's_  the one who's dating—dated—Sebastian. 

Hunter ignores him. "Usually his abandonment and trust issues are great for me, they're the bedrock of our continued friendship. But he's been no fun lately, and I'm here to tell you to man up and fucking fix it. It's not like you didn't know what you were buying."

Kurt glares at Hunter, but his heart gives a little squeeze at that. Because it's clear now that Hunter is here to tell him to kiss and make up with Sebastian. Since there's no way that Sebastian sent  _Hunter_ of all people to him, there's only one reason Hunter—who likes Kurt about as much as Kurt likes him— would be here in front of Kurt: Sebastian was hurting, and hurting badly.

 "How is he?" Kurt forces out at last, because he can't not know.

 Sebastian's dad had only said, when Kurt called, that Seb refused to talk about anything but classes, when he deigned to pick up at all. Kurt had gone so far as to use Sebastian's credentials to log into Columbia's student directory and search up Paul's phone number. He'd stopped short of actually calling, of course, because he _wasn't_ going to let himself sink to the level of crazy ex-girlfriend, but it had been tempting.

Hunter shrugs, "Last I saw him, which was a week ago, he'd planned such a tight schedule he barely had time to eat. I had to sneak in between a working lunch and extra hours at his office, and force my way into his dorm room late at night." 

It doesn't even make Kurt feel better to know that Sebastian wasn't out there lavishly kissing some dark eyed twink on Columbia's gleaming steps, his fingers looped around the twink's belt buckle to pull him closer, as he sometimes imagines in his darkest and most unhinged thoughts. 

Hunter paused, and tilted his head 45 degrees at Kurt. His voice isn't unkind when he says, "He looks better than you though. I can see your concealer from here." 

Kurt scowls, but lets that one slide, because he knows he _did_ cake the concealer on this morning, and because there was more important information to extract from Hunter.

"Do you know who-what made him not call?" He asks clumsily.

Because this is the only part that doesn't make sense to Kurt.

He does know they weren't doing great, those last couple of weeks. But he also knows Sebastian loves him, and both of them had _known_ it wouldn't be Kurt's name.

 _Who_ was so enchanting that he made Sebastian give into the voice that lived in the back of Sebastian's head, that lived in the back of Kurt's head too, the one that said life would be so much easier if they just let each other go?

Hunter shrugs again. "He wears a black ring. I could've doused him with Veritaserum and Sebbie would never have told me anything." He pouted a little. "And I tried, I fed that boy a liter of vodka."

Kurt nods, even if curiosity still gnawed at him, because it was only to be expected. Names are deeply personal. Sometimes, when he thinks about that day in Seb's Dalton bed, Sebastian's fingers creating a tiny amount of heat as they move over the bare inked skin of his hand, Kurt shivers at the blanketing intimacy

He was so gone for Sebastian, even back then.

"All right," he says finally. "Are we done here?"

"Yup," Hunter says cheerily, "Except that I have to remind you that this is the _second_ time I'm acting as Cupid, and I'm really hoping it's the last time. Next time, either just fucking break up so we're spared the moping, or put rings on it, all right?"

Then he walks away backwards, giving Kurt a jaunty wave as he goes. 

Kurt really can't stand his smarmy little face.

* * *

Kurt thinks about Sebastian all through his first class, and his second class, and doesn't even care about being called out by one of his instructors for it. Lunch is spent staring blankly down at his phone, while the cursor blinks on an empty text to Meerkat _._ It feels strangely familiar to all those months of high school pining. 

Finally, he just thinks to himself, _I am Kurt Elizabeth Hummel,_ and picks up the phone.

Kurt dials Meerkat and waits as it rings and goes to voicemail.

The moment Sebastian's voice is finished telling him to leave a message, he's snapping into his phone:

"You, Sebastian Smythe, are a coward and an asshole, and I hope your rare Lord of the Rings copies burn in a fire and a mouse chews up your favorite polo and your lacrosse team loses its first game." 

That makes several heads in the cafeteria turn but also makes Kurt feel better, so he continues, not bothering to lower his voice.

"It's not like I didn't know that before, but I'm your boyfriend. You don't treat your boyfriend that way. You don't promise to call and _don't_. You don't make him stay up all night waiting, you don't make him cry over your Meerkat face."

He takes a breath, because he's run out of air and because he's trying to swallow the lump in the back of his throat. Regardless of what Hunter said, Kurt  _has_  been "working for it." But he can't be the only one, if this relationship is to survive. This relationship will only work if he isn't the only one.

"Please," Kurt begs, and he's not even sure what he's asking for exactly. "We're apparently so bad at this  _Hunter_ had to come talk to me. But we've made it through two years anyway, haven't we? I just—I just need you to tell me something, anything. I can wait, as long as you need, but you have to tell me there's something I'm waiting for."

And here, his breath hitches in the back of his throat, as it always does, saying these three words, and he closes his eyes, lowers his voice even more so it's barely a whisper, like it was being said into the space between them in bed.

"I love you. and I miss you. So. Please." 

It's perhaps pathetic, but it's only true, so he hangs up, and wills himself to finish lunch. 

Kurt studiously doesn't let himself wonder what he would do if Sebastian doesn't reply to this last ditch effort.

He'd have to try to let go, he supposes. But his mom died when he was little, and he's an only child, he's never been very good at it. 

A girl he recognizes from class comes to him with him a minute after with a pitying frown and a bowl of Ben and Jerries ice cream. She leaves it by his elbow, compliments his singing, and pats his shoulder as she heads away. 

Kurt laughs through the embarrassment, and then he eats the ice cream, because he fucking deserves.

When the sun is sinking and he's walking back to his building, the light dyeing his skin red and orange, a series of texts pings his phone in rapid succession.

He opens his phone, feeling light-headed, like he's waiting for the first note of a song. 

_From: Meerkat_

_I'm sorry._

_I deserved that. I am an asshole._

_Hunter's a bigger asshole though. He shouldn't have gone to you._

_But at least you got to yell at me, so I'll take that as you're ok._

_I'm surviving._

_Dad says I have to fix it before he disowns me for bad decisions._

_You turned me into a fucking cliche, because I'm about to tell you it's not you, it's me._

_Our relationship's a mess._

_You deserve more than to wait, Princess._

_I need time._

It's not a call, but Kurt breathes a sigh of relief anyway. It may be hard to stay, but Sebastian is enough reason to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I'M SO PROUD. Two updates in a row. My thesis advisor is less proud, because I definitely used it as a procrastination tool, but also the end was like. Right there.  
> Now for actual notes:
> 
> 1\. I extrapolate from the last scene he was in that Hunter has real drug issues, and in this universe he manages to mostly kick it off. I also think he's a terrible person but a good friend, and even though he's slimy he's vaguely endearing (because Sebastian likes him, and so I like him). Would anyone ever be interested in an outsider Hunter POV on Kurt / Sebastian? 
> 
> 2\. Sebastian is an endearing jerk, but don't follow his example. Always communicate.


	22. In Movement (November, 2013)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now that they’re alone, Kurt finds the awkwardness creeping between them again. It’d been so easy back in there with Sebastian, like it used to be. He sweeps his eyes up to the patio roof, where the fairy lights from two summers ago are still hanging. That magical summer night comes back to Kurt, like it does so often, the muffled laughter of the other boys, the lights and stars glimmering above their joined lips, the heat of Sebastian sinking into his bones."
> 
> The boys finally talk, after the combined effort of very many people in their lives, because they are very stubborn. Unreliable narrators are revealed.

**In Movement (Nov, 2013)**

The weeks crawl at a snail’s pace. It’s an incredibly busy time, with rehearsals and midterms at every corner. But every day, Kurt texts Sebastian—things that he would’ve texted to Sebastian or mentioned during their evening calls. How his classes were going, gossip Sebastian might’ve been interested in, the latest happenings in trash TV land. Every other day or so, Sebastian texts back something inoffensive, a bit snarky, mostly just so Kurt knows he’s still reading, Kurt thinks. 

Elliot, whom he picked up on one of those terrible bar nights—but not like that, Kurt means friend picked-up, where Elliot held his hand and made sympathetic noises while he had a break down at the bar—, laughs at him every time he sees him text.

“Still being led on a string, Kurt?” He would tease, but Kurt never replies, because he can hear the real hint of disapproval underneath. Instead, he shoots off the text quickly and goes back trying not to choke on Elliot’s cologne or get glitter all over himself as they talk. He wonders all the time if the befuddled way he feels interacting with Elliot is how straight people feel interacting with him.

Elliot isn’t the only one who makes frowny faces at him about Seb, of course. Jose still keeps offering to build things for his show, and Rachel recently bought him self-help books without a trace of irony. The only people who seem to really support him, who asks after Seb and whether they’ve talked yet, is his dad and _Seb’s_ dad. He’d thinks he’d better get the best son award from both of them one day.

“Not yet,” he’d tell them, and means the _yet_. Kurt isn’t delusional. If Sebastian wants to tell him _no_ and is sure of that _no,_ he’d say it directly to Kurt, and there would be nothing for Kurt to do but accept it. Sebastian’s never been one to pull punches. Until then. Until then—

But weeks slip by, and then it almost time to go back to Ohio for Thanksgiving, and Kurt seriously starts thinking about calling Sebastian up just to yell at him again.

Thankfully for Seb, days before Kurt is supposed to get on a plane back to Lima, Kurt’s phone lights up with an incoming call from _Meerkat_ , and Kurt’s heart starts pounding. _This is it,_ he thinks. He can feel it.

“Hey, Kurt,” Sebastian says, his voice almost drowned out by what sounds like airport chatter. Seb sounds close enough to casual that if Kurt hadn’t known him so well, he’d think Sebastian was really at ease. “Are you going back for Thanksgiving?”

“Sebastian,” Kurt replies, trying to strike a similar tone. “Yeah, in a couple of days. Are you?”

“I am,” Seb says. “So’s Maman.”

There is a long pause. Kurt blinks.

Seb’s mother lives in Paris.

Seb’s mother also _loathes_ his dad, and the feeling is mutual. Seb, for his part, adores and avoids his mother in equal measures, always throwing himself into Kurt’s arms when he comes back from his trips to France while loudly promising he’d never return.

According to Seb, his mother was the quintessential French woman: beautiful, charming, exacting, and unbearably flighty. Best in very small doses. Kurt has no idea how Sebastian will survive the visit.      

“She’s… going to Thanksgiving dinner?” he clarifies, just to make sure he understood right. “The Smythes’ Thanksgiving dinner? At your dad’s house? Which the French don’t even celebrate?”

Seb coughs. “Yeah, and Maman’s even staying with us. She’s saying she wants to personally hear her son’s ‘first-year adventures,’ like I don’t talk to her every week. It’s going to be a fucking blood bath, even in my dad’s stupidly enormous house.”

Kurt winces for Sebastian.

“I’m sorry, is there anything I can do?” he says.

“Come to Thanksgiving brunch,” Seb says, and then before Kurt can reply, he speeds through what sounds like a speech he’s memorized. “Not Thanksgiving dinner, no one deserves being subjected to the Smythe clan. But brunch, at my house. It'll be just my dad and my mère.”

Kurt’s voice catches in his throat.

“Kurt?” Seb’s tinny voice says. ”My dad kept dropping heavy hints about inviting you, so I thought I'd do it before he goes and does it himself and makes it awkward for everyone. And Maman’s been lamenting that she still doesn’t know what you look like, as if she hasn't stalked your Facebook photos a couple dozen times. But obviously, don't come if you don’t want to, I’ll—”

“No, no,” Kurt says hurriedly. “I’d love to go. I’d love to meet your parents.”

“Oh. Ok. Great. Thanks,” Seb says. There’s another notable pause.

“I’ll text you all the details now,” Seb finishes. “See you soon.”

And then Sebastian hangs up, and Kurt’s last couple of days in New York is shot to hell.

Kurt goes to his closet to reorganize everything, and then repacks his entire suitcase because it’s a totally different clothing situation now. Apparently, not only is Kurt still neither back together nor broken up with Sebastian, he’s also _meeting Sebastian’s parents._

When Kurt sees Sebastian, he’s either going to weep all over him or slap him.

* * *

 

Sebastian’s house looms imposingly from the gates, as it always has, all red bricks and quasi-Greek columns. Kurt drives slowly up the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires of his dad’s car. For a moment, he misses the comfort and easy handling of his baby, something familiar to cling onto. But of course his car couldn’t be kept when Kurt was leaving for New York. His dad’s car is comforting enough in its own way, smelling of oil and home.

He parks next to the Smythes’ Audi, breathes deeply one last time, and climbs out with a basket filled with homemade fruit scones and lemonade, both courtesy of his dad.

Just as he ducks his head out of the car, the house door swings open, and a beautiful middle-aged woman appears on the steps, throwing a perfectly Parisian “ _Bonjour!”_ at him.

Kurt fumbles with his basket but luckily doesn’t lose a fruit scone.

“Hello,” he shouts back, trying not to redden because he _isn’t prepared yet._ He makes his way up to her, and tries to smile naturally as he extends the gifts.

“My name is Kurt Hummel, it’s a pleasure to meet you. These are for you, Mrs—” and then he almost bites his tongue, because of course Sebastian only calls his mom Maman—or Mère, when he’s being unbearably snobby. Kurt actually has no idea what she goes by, because presumably it’s not Mrs. Smythe—

“ _Marie, mon cher,_ ” she says, in that beautiful accent again. Kurt knows she technically lives in Reims, but according to Seb, she grew up in Paris and ran with the artistic and cosmopolitan crowd before meeting his dad. Kurt can believe that. Even approaching what must be her 50s, she's stunning, dark curls tumbling down her slim shoulders and framing piercing green eyes, light’s crow feet lending humor to her expression, her simple cashmere sweater and pants accented with a Hermes scarf.

He never knew that Sebastian got his eyes from his mom.

“Don’t these smell delectable? Come in,” she says, taking the basket from him and thankfully switching to English, because Kurt’s French is terrible even after four years of high school instruction.

“ _Sébastien_ , Kurt is here!” Marie calls over her shoulder, and Kurt slides his eyes behind her to see Sebastian, rounding the corner and walking towards them.

He looks—it’s been over a month since Kurt last saw him, and he looks—

“ _Sebastian,”_ Kurt says, appalled. “Are you wearing boat shoes during _fall_? And how can you have a double-popped collar for _Thanksgiving brunch?_ No, actually—I take that back, you’re not supposed to wear a double-popped collar _ever._ ”

“Hello to you too, Princess,” Sebastian says, raking his eyes down Kurt in turn. “Nice to see your fashion sense is as sharp as ever.”

Sebastian’s tone is mocking, but there’s warmth there that makes Kurt flushes down to his toes. Kurt straightens the sleeves of the Burberry coat Sebastian bought him and the hem of the red sweater he knows plays up his pale complexion.

“Let me take that for you,” Marie says, easing the coat from his shoulders. Kurt catches a glimmer of her ring, which isn’t black, white, or gold, but set with curling art deco designs in every color. She pushes him gently but not subtly towards Sebastian. “Go on, _Sébastien_ ’s father is in the kitchen with the caterer.”

“Caterer?” Kurt mouths, as he walks with Sebastian down a hallway that feels too small to accommodate them. This close, Kurt doesn’t even have to try to ignore his terrible fashion choices. All he can zero in on is the familiar scent of Sebastian’s cologne, his ridiculous shoulder-to-waist ratio, his bright green eyes—eyes that for once, aren’t ringed by dark circles.

“It’s for both brunch and dinner,” Sebastian explains. “Neither of them can cook. I’d never put them in the kitchen together anyway, there are knives in there,”

Kurt smiles reluctantly, glancing quickly at Seb and then looking away before Seb can catch him at it. The Smythes were all so endearingly dysfunctional.

“Dad, Kurt’s here!” Sebastian yells as they enter, and his dad looks up quickly from where he’s in conversation with what must be one of the catering staff, while _more_ people bustle around them with fancy knifes and glasses and amazing smelling food.

“Kurt!” Sebastian’s dad says with a wide, honest grin. Kurt holds up a hand to shake, but instead Seb's dad makes three big strides and envelopes him in a big hug. Kurt, after a beat, returns back the hug just as tightly.

This is the man that helped them find their first apartment, who cleared his schedule to come visit Sebastian and Kurt living in sin and persevered with the stilted conversation, who checks up on Kurt even when Sebastian was absent, who _beams_ with pride at Sebastian when Seb’s facing the other way.

Sebastian’s dad lets go and beams _at him_ this time. “It’s great to see you, Kurt. I’m glad my son hasn’t chased you away”— _Dad,_ Sebastian hisses next to him—“We’re using the breakfast nook in the sunroom, if you want to go in first. We’ll be there in just a minute.”

Seb rolls his eyes and pulls Kurt away, just as Sebastian’s mom comes into the kitchen with a sharp, “ _Mon Dieu!_ What are you telling them to do to the bread? You Americans, you—”

The sound of rising voices float behind them as they hustle their way into the sunroom, where Seb throws himself on a wicker chair, groaning dramatically. As he runs an agitated hand through his already-tussled hair, Kurt catches the dark lines of a black ring, and the fear in the bottom of his stomach loosens just a bit, even though Kurt was mostly certain that would be the case.

“You see?” Sebastian whines. “If you weren’t here, they’d be at it all brunch too.”

Kurt laughs, going to the set table and touching the silver utensils and porcelain dish ware with a delicate hand.

“This isn’t too much, is it?” Sebastian asks, and Kurt turns back to see a tightness around his eyes.

“No, it isn’t,” Kurt says, and he means it, all of it. He grins widely at Sebastian.

Sebastian smiles back.

* * *

 

Brunch is a pleasant, if at times awkward, affair. But it’s to be expected, given it’s their first meal together, and there’s unavoidable tension between Sebastian’s parents. They wisely stick to conversation topics revolving around Kurt and Sebastian.

Marie peppers Sebastian and him with questions—how their breaks have been so far, what their studies are like, who their friends are, where they like to go in New York. Kurt tries to answer charmingly, and it isn’t hard, because _Marie’s_ so charming. But she also flits from topic to topic, and sometimes Kurt isn’t sure if she’s listening to a word he’s saying, really. He can’t help but dart a quick glance at Seb, who shrugs as if to say, _See? Now you get it._

Marie is fascinated by the old rivalry between their old acapella groups—“ _How romantic!”_ She exclaims, and Sebastian and Kurt both snort, because that’s certainly one way to describe all their posturing back then. It’s not like they’re exactly grown-up now, but Kurt can't help his inward wince when he thinks of how dramatic and immature they were back then, the way every competition felt like it was some eternal statement of artistry and not a high school contest.

Kurt and Sebastian recount all their favorite memories, and argue with mock outrage where they happen to diverge. When Kurt gives updates from his New Direction reunion meal, including the impending arrival of Santana—freshly dropped out of college—to New York this winter, Seb predictably rolls his eyes.

“Great, another of your bitchy friends to deal with in New York,” he snarks, but Kurt just smiles beatifically and thinks with glee about Sebastian’s face when he finally meets Elliot.  

They talk about the Warblers too, and even though Kurt knows the reason why, he can’t help asking innocently why Sebastian was missing from last night's reunion dinner. It's hard not to be spiteful—he had to deal by himself with the boys well-meaningly dropping into the conversation that Seb's parents were in town and how Kurt could and should _meet them_ , and how they've heard from Hunter that they're still working things out and good for them. By the end, he’d been ready to stab someone.

At least Sebastian had the decency to look ashamed about that, mumbling something about being busy and changing the conversation to Kurt’s upcoming show.

That’s when Sebastian mom cuts in, with an inquisitive tilt to her head. “So is the only career you are thinking of musical theatre? You do not have a back-up plan?” she asks.

Seb grabs a scone with a pained expression, while Kurt answers, confused, “Umm… yes, Marie. I’ve always known I wanted to be on the stage.”

“It is very unstable, you know,” Marie says, with a note of censure in her voice.

Sebastian stares at her like she’s got two heads.

“Maman,” he begins, “You sang _opera_ and now run a small _winery_ in France that barely turns a profit.”

She waves him away with a hand. “My family is rich, my situation is entirely different"—Kurt wonders with horrified amusement if all French people are quite this insensitive about class—"You are sure you are not concerned at all about your prospects?”

“ _Marie,_ ” Sebastian’s dad starts, only Kurt smiles back calmly to her and say, polite but firm, “It’s what I love to do, and I intend to not just be successful but famous at it.”

Then he grins, a little cheeky. “Plus, Sebastian wants to be a lawyer, so we’ll be fine.”

There's a stunned silence. And then Sebastian’s dad breaks it with a large laugh, and Marie looks at Sebastian with an amused eyebrow.

She gives _Kurt_  a small nod, an impressed one, he thinks. Sebastian's face looks torn between embarrassment and amusement, and Kurt feels like he’s passed some sort of weird parental test.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Sebastian’s dad says, still chuckling. “I think my son’s fallen in love with nonprofit law.” He attempts to make it sound like he’s complaining, except he’s an attorney for the government and sounds far too proud.

“I’m still exploring though,” Sebastian points out. “I want to try my hands at other things too, it’s not like I’m continuing the ACLU internship.”

Kurt looks sharply at him, because Seb hadn’t mentioned anything like that. “Why?” he asks. “But you love it!”

“I do,” Seb says. “But there’s plenty of time, and there's too much on my plate anyway. I’m quitting varsity lacrosse too, so now I can really focus on pre-law society and volunteering. I might dabble in club lacrosse though—or maybe try out for an acapella group next semester. I’ve kind of missed singing.”

“But you _love_ lacrosse—” Kurt starts.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t worth the amount of work. I mean, it’s not where I want to go with my life. And my teammates are all right, but there’s only so much _wink wink nudge nudge where’s your girlfriend_ I can take after years of brosin high school.” Seb raises his eyebrows. “Why do you sound so upset about it, anyway? You hated me doing all these things.”

“Yes, but—Wait—you _knew_ about that?”

“No one’s capable of missing your pouty face, Kurt,” Seb says with an eye roll. “Except whenever I asked you, you’d never say anything about it, so I could never figure out exactly why. I thought it was maybe the lacrosse team calling you _my girl_ like it was the wittiest joke in the world, but you always gave as good as you got, so I figured it couldn’t just be that.”

Kurt has no idea what to say on that, so he lets the conversation move naturally to Marie’s question on what a “bro” is, and they spend nearly the rest of meal explaining athletic culture to Sebastian’s mom.

The rest of brunch is quick and cheerful, and it’s really very nice—Kurt even promises to get his dad to send the scones recipe to the Smythes’ housekeeper—but he sits distracted for the rest of the meal.

Sebastian _knew._ But Kurt doesn’t remember Sebastian asking him what was wrong, even though Sebastian made it sound like he asked multiple times.

Kurt wonders if it was just because he was too stuck in his own head—like he gets sometimes. He wonders what else has been going on then, before Sebastian’s birthday, that he hadn’t quite understood either.

When they’re standing up and the caterers are cleaning the table, Sebastian’s mom takes his face in her hands and gives him a gentle kiss on both cheeks.

“You're a rather adorable dreamer, aren't you? No wonder _mon couer_ is besotted with you,” she says, so softly Kurt thinks only he catches it. “Do be sure to visit me with ’Bastien this summer.”

Kurt flushes, while she turns to Sebastian and suggests, apropos of nothing, that they take a walk.

They both protest, of course, but before they know it, they’re outside the sunroom and she’s closing the patio door behind them with a sweet wave.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Seb says, feelingly, shivering in the fall breeze. “She didn’t even let me get my coat!”

Kurt laughs, because Seb’s mom is the _worse_ matchmaker. Maybe they think Kurt and Sebastian are going to hug for warmth. “It’s your fault for wearing boat shoes in the fall,” he teases.

But his amusement dies out quickly, almost the moment he stops speaking. It _is_ cold, Kurt thinks, putting his hands in his pocket. And it’s too early for a hug between them, he knows.

Now that they’re alone, Kurt finds the awkwardness creeping between them again. It’d been so easy back in there with Sebastian, like it used to be.

He sweeps his eyes up to the patio roof, where the fairy lights from two summers ago are still hanging. That magical summer night comes back to Kurt, like it does so often, the muffled laughter of the other boys, the lights and stars glimmering above their joined lips, the heat of Sebastian sinking into his bones.

Seb stares at him, looking as wistful and miserable as Kurt feels right now, and then he steps swiftly forward and hugs Kurt tight. His hands clench on Kurt’s shoulder and waist, and Kurt hadn’t known how desperate he was for this hug until Sebastian’s warmth pressed all around him, but he claws back just at tightly, burrowing into the safe space between Sebastian’s neck and shoulder.

“What are we doing, Sebastian?” Kurt says, his eyes stinging, muffled into Sebastian’s collarbone.

Seb laughs, wetly. “I thought we were trying to get back together. What did you think we were doing?”

Kurt starts crying, he can’t help it, because it’s been so hard this past month, keeping faith.

He pushes Sebastian away from him harshly with both hands, because he’s pissed off still and the bastard deserves it. But then he reels him back in just as quickly, his fingers not even letting go of Sebastian’s soft cotton polo, because he can’t bear for Sebastian to be more than an inch away from him right now.

“Of course I know, idiot,” Kurt says. “But you owe me a fucking apology first, you asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” Seb says, pressing each word into Kurt’s lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Kurt grasps his hair tightly then, and falls into the deep kiss he’s wanted since even before Sebastian’s birthday, maybe even before the summer ended, when they were really truly happy. Sebastian’s hands tighten on him.

When they break apart, they’re both breathing hard, their faces wet. Kurt hopes Sebastian’s parents and the caterers have left the sunroom by now, before they started getting a soap opera through the room’s windows.

“What _happened,_ Sebastian?” Kurt asks, “You didn’t even _say_ anything—you just—you just _left_ me there, wondering—”

“I just—,” Seb says, and he looks so anguished, and Kurt still doesn’t know why, not really. “You were so _unhappy,_ Kurt, and it felt like there was nothing I could to fix it. I don’t even know now if you’re really sure—”

“Don’t you dare!” Kurt says, sharply. “Of course I’m sure. And I wasn’t—”

“You _were,_ ” Sebastian glares at Kurt, fierce. “Don’t insult me by pretending, it’s been two years, I can _read_ you, Kurt. You were so unhappy all the time, and you weren’t _telling_ me anything when I asked how things were, and it didn’t seem like you were _trying_ to make it work. You wouldn’t meet my friends, you wouldn’t come to anything. It was like—it was like you wanted _out_ —” Sebastian chokes up there, and Kurt kisses him again, just to make him stop breaking Kurt’s heart.

“It wasn’t because of _you_ ,” Kurt says, when they pull back. He tries to impress as much conviction as possible onto Sebastian, because Sebastian was one of the best things in Kurt’s life, whether during his high points or during his weak points. “It was—everything else—your teammates were making me uncomfortable, _Columbia_ made me uncomfortable. I hated finding out that I hadn't left all my insecurity behind when I moved to New York. And it felt like I was intruding on your new Ivy League life, and I was so afraid that it was all just pretend, that we'd been left in Ohio when you moved over here and you just hadn't realized it yet.”

Seb looks upset at that, and Kurt says quickly, remembering Carole’s words, remembering Rachel and Finn, Tina and Mike, Puck and Quinn, all the other couples that didn’t make it. “Not on purpose, it just. It _happens,_ sometimes _._ ”

Sebastian looks, if anything, even more upset. “Why didn’t you _tell me_ anything? _”_ he asks.

And the sheer obliviousness of that question makes Kurt give a wet and humorless laugh. “Are you _actually_ trying to lecture me about communication?”

“ _Kurt,_ ” Sebastian says, urgently, lifting his head up with a quick hand. Kurt stares up at him, eyes full of tears, silent for a second.

“I was afraid it would sound like I was being petty about your success,” he admits, “and that I’d make the things I was worried about come true, by saying them.”

“You _idiot,”_ Sebastian whispers, slow and angry. He inhales a sharp breath, and presses their foreheads together. “If you had _asked,_ I would’ve told you I was getting more and more annoyed and stressed about everything. I would’ve told you that being from Nowheresville, Ohio sucked when they all went to fucking prep school in Manhattan. Fuck, I would’ve told you that I _hated_ playing nice and making friends, when I’ve had the Warblers at my back for three years, and how much of a _difference_ you made, being there, getting all my jokes—”

Kurt’s tears start rolling again.

“So it wasn’t because of—because of—” Kurt whispers, his eyes sliding over to Sebastian’s right hand, which was tightly gripping his neck. Even now, he can’t quite voice his one greatest fear. The black ring sits on Sebastian’s finger, taunting him.

Sebastian hesitates. His hand moves away from Kurt’s neck, and clenches into a fist by his side. He stares intently at his hand.

“Sebastian?” Kurt prompts, softly. He covers Sebastian’s hand with his own, their black rings overlapping each other.

Seb looks up at him, a bitter smile on his lips. “Yes and no,” he says. “It doesn’t matter, Kurt.”

“Are you sure—is it—do you know him?” Kurt settles on at last.

Sebastian hesitates again, and Kurt thinks that’s answer enough. But then Sebastian shakes his head hard, and tangles their fingers together, so the rings are out of sight.

“Don’t ask me to see, Kurt,” he says. And all Kurt can do is pull him in again and kiss him hard.

Kurt doesn't _want_ to see, not really. Sebastian chose _him._ Sebastian is _his._

Whoever it happens to be—some boy from Paris, at Columbia, in the Warblers, among his teammates and rivals—Kurt’d fight them all for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the long chapter today! I was going to break this one up, but then I think I've teased ya'll enough. Silly boys. Thankfully they've got very well-meaning but dysfunctional parents. 
> 
> In other news, I finally finished writing this fic. I am very very proud, because it's my first long fic. Come back for the next couple of weeks every Saturday for consistent updates :)


	23. Future Promises (Nov, 2013 / Feb 2021)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "New York beckons with the future."
> 
> Two different boys make two different promises to Kurt at two different times.

**Future Promises (Nov, 2013)**

I’ll come over for dinner tomorrow,” Sebastian says, standing outside his car door. “Just let me know if your dad says it’s all right. And don’t forget the Warblers want to get together again over the weekend, before we all have to leave.”

Kurt shuts the door and rolls the window down, smiling brightly up at him. Sebastian’s eyes are shot red still, but Kurt thinks he’s rarely seen Sebastian more beautiful.

“I will," he says, reaching through the window for a last kiss.

Kurt wonders if Sebastian’s parents are at the window, cooing at them and feeling weird about being in sync about this, but he doesn’t let that stop him. It’s hard to feel embarrassed, when he's glad that they're the world's most unsubtle meddlers.

When Sebastian and Kurt had come in from the cold so Kurt could say goodbye, with both their faces chapped red by the wind, Sebastian’s parents were sitting together and watching TV peacefully, and Sebastian had muttered, “That’s fucking weird, it’s like the Twilight Zone,” at Kurt.

It makes Kurt feel blessed, really, to have this, among all the other gay boys in the world—supportive parents, and each other.

Sebastian gives him another hard, intoxicating kiss. When they break apart, he’s staring at Kurt.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you?” he says, soft and serious. “If you were unhappy? Too unhappy to continue?”

“I will,” Kurt says, and means it. But he also knows, deep in his bones, that a time like that won't ever come for him. New York beckons with the future, and he can’t wait to take it on now, with Sebastian firmly by his side. “And next time when you go on a crazy trip about breaking up, you have to ask too.”

Sebastian huffs. “Yeah, I will,” he says, and gives Kurt one more kiss for the road.

* * *

 

**Future Promises (February, 2021)**

“Thanks for meeting me, Kurt,” Blaine says, earnestly, and Kurt thinks with some despair that he really is as adorable looking as he remembers from several nights ago.

Kurt shrugs, as Blaine looks down as his black coffee, biting his lips.

He hears rather than sees Blaine inhale deeply, and then he’s raising his head to meet Kurt’s eyes straight-on, so brave.

“I know—” he says, wetting his lips. “I know you’re dating someone, but I would never have forgiven myself if I didn’t at least try.”

Blaine drops his coffee spoon against his cup with an off-tune clang.

He says, all in a rush, “I’m really attracted to you, Kurt. I’m single, and it’s been a year since I’ve really dated, and I haven’t had anyone serious in a long time, if ever, and— I can’t remember ever _feeling_ this way before. That night, on stage, my eyes kept being pulled again and again to the corner of the room where you sat. You shined all the way to the stage, and I kept being caught by your smile and your laugh. It was like I’d been hypnotized. We can be friends first, if you would rather, if you need the time. But”—his eyes slide to his white ring, and then back to—“Don’t you want to see where this goes?"

Blaine keeps looking at Kurt, his eyes wide and pleading for understanding. He’s got great eyes, Kurt notes, fringed with dark curled lashes like he belongs in a mascara commercial, brown and soft, the definition of puppy dog.

Kurt does remember.

He remembers thinking Blaine was very attractive, remembers noting he had a natural charisma on stage, a more demanding presence than you’d expect from someone who was clearly a bit on the short side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided on 2 updates this week, because 1) this chapter SUPER short anyway and 2) I HANDED IN MY SENIOR THESIS YESTERDAY. 90 pages YA'LL. I AM PROUD AS A PICKLE.


	24. Sealed with a Memory (May, 2019)

**Sealed with a Memory (May, 2019)**

“Good morning,” Kurt says, bleary-eyed, as he patters over to give Sebastian a good morning kiss. He drapes himself over his back, his hands burrowing under Sebastian’s shirt to smooth over his abs where he’s warm and toned under Kurt’s fingertips. He snuggles into Sebastian’s neck, kisses the vein there lingeringly.

“Glad to see you’ve come back from the dead to join us, Princess,” Seb says, continuing to flip his pancake and not even telegraphing a hint of distraction despite Kurt’s wandering hands. He tilts his head towards the clock. “It’s _just_ still early enough that we can call this brunch and not lunch. I left some oranges by the juicer, go make two glasses of orange juice and put out the utensils?”

The romance was really and truly dead, Kurt thinks, despairingly. 

But he’s been well-trained, so he does go and start the machine.

Then again, Kurt thinks, looking back with unbearable fondness—he’d die if anyone ever captured the expression he’s sure he’s making on camera—, there’s a gorgeous man in his beautiful apartment making him Sunday brunch. It’s every romantic dream Kurt had when he was young come true.

Even if the man still can’t quite cook, Kurt thinks, laughing inwardly as he watches Sebastian wince and dump a charred _and_ soggy pancake into the trash.  

“Need help?” Kurt asks, cheerfully.

“ _No,_ ” Sebastian says. “I’m a fucking law student. I can make _pancakes_.” He spits that last word out so vehemently Kurt can’t help but actually laugh out loud this time.

Sebastian glares at him.

“See if I take you any where today,” he says spitefully.

“Of course you will. I haven’t been free for a weekend in _ages._ And you’re clearly planning something nice. There’s pancake and orange juice, you’ve done your hair and wearing things I _don’t_ hate, and you’ve been working nonstop the past several nights to clear your calendar,” Kurt replies, laughing again as he turns back to fill two glasses and carry them to the table, where Sebastian’s taken out the nice plates.

His entire body is still hurting a bit from rehearsals earlier this week, but it’s the good kind of sore, the ache that comes from working hard. It’ll be a couple of months yet before the show starts its run, but Kurt’s learnt to trust his instincts, and they’re drumming with excitement. He’s done a couple of bit parts, some bigger roles off-off-Broadway, but _this show—_ this show feels like it could be one that moves him to the next level.

Everyone involved is bit a rehearsal-crazy, though, so he’s glad to be getting this Sunday off. He gets the feeling these lazy Sundays will only get harder to secure in the near future, what with his future practice schedule and Sebastian’s looming finals.

Sebastian comes over and slams the pancakes down unnecessarily hard, along with scones from the French-style bakery next door to them and some fruit.

“I’ve been told I look hot in my normal clothes, you know,” Sebastian says.

“You shouldn’t listen to everything boys at the club tell you,” Kurt teases, but when Sebastian seems like he’s about to tip from adorably ruffled to truly annoyed, Kurt leans over the table and gives him a quick peck. “But luckily for you, even though your clothes are terribly boring, you _are_ hot, so they're not too bad on you.”

“And _your_ clothes try too hard. You’re lucky you’ve got a great ass,” Sebastian volleys back, but with an eye roll that turns into a smile when Kurt flutters his eyelashes and mock-adjusts his vest.

Kurt splits the stack of pancakes between the two of them quickly, giving himself several extra and digging in. Really, they came out quite well, Kurt thinks, picking one up and examining one with the critical eye of someone who actually knows how to cook. Although Kurt was ravenous so he wouldn’t have been picky anyway. Last night he came home, washed his face, and crashed so fast he skipped dinner entirely.

“But really, what’s the plan today?” Kurt asks, between large and very unattractive bites.

Sebastian smiles and shrugs, cutting into his own pancakes.

Kurt idly goes through some possibilities, but lets him play at being mysterious. Sebastian doesn’t _do_ surprises, really, but when he does, they’re small but thoughtful. It’s probably something like a surprise visit from friends, or tickets he’s had his eye on, or maybe even that leather jacket the other day—Kurt’s willing to wait.

Breakfast passes in comfortable chatter, with Sebastian playing through some of the arguments he’ll be using next week in class on Kurt. The legal details mostly pass Kurt by, but he can tell well enough where Seb’s language and argument need more clarity to give feedback. But there’s a distracted air about Sebastian, and Kurt wonders if there’s still something about the case Seb still hasn’t quite worked out bothering him.

When they’re done eating, Sebastian reaches across from him slowly—very slowly—weirdly slow—to clear up the plates, putting his hand right in his view.

Kurt’s eyes register it before Kurt’s brain does—that there’s something a bit odd with his hand. It—it’s glimmering silver—

Kurt stares at Sebastian, his glass of juice falling out of his hand with a soft thump.

Sebastian smiles, and how did Kurt miss that edge of anxious energy, with so much intent to please behind it—

Sebastian pushes the plates and utensils and whatever else on the table aside, and takes hold of Kurt’s hand. Kurt doesn’t— _can’t—_ take his eyes off Sebastian’s ring finger, not until Sebastian gives his hand a gentle tug, and he snaps them up to Sebastian’s face.

He looks so wretchedly shy and hopeful, and Kurt’s not sure he’s ever seen quite that look on Seb’s face ever, in all the years they’ve been together.

With his other hand, Sebastian reaches beneath the table and pulls out a small velvet box, which he snaps open and slides right next to their joined hands.

“This one is yours. If you want it?” he says.

What else can Kurt do but pick it up with shaking hands. The velvet box looks a bit worse for wear, the colors gone a bit faded, and it doesn’t make sense until Kurt pulls out the ring and— _Oh._

He traces the _Sebastian Smythe_ carved on the inside of the silver Found band, the elegant curling patterns he remembers choosing for the outside, when he was 17 and almost painfully in love, the details blurring as his eyes fill with tears. 

“How—?” Kurt asks.

“You realize that when you get rings personalized, you can’t actually just abandon them?” Sebastian says, easily, calmly, like it was nothing, to have kept these rings through everything, for _ten years,_ unwavering. “The jewelry store called me the next day, so I went and picked them up. And I couldn't just throw them away.”

Kurt’s happy, he really truly is, as happy as the day he heard his dad had made it through surgery okay, as the day Sebastian wanted to get back together, as the day he heard back from his show's casting director. He clutches his ring tightly and throws himself onto Sebastian’s lap, arms already coming up to grip Sebastian desperately.

Sebastian’s hands smooth down his back, automatic, steadying, soothing.

“I got it adjusted to your size recently, if you want to wear it,” Sebastian whispers, wiping away his tears and pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Of _course_ I want to wear it, the ring is _mine_ ,” Kurt says, as he turns around again so his back was pressed to Sebastian’s front. He pulls off his black ring and slides Sebastian’s beautiful ring on quickly, under the table and out of sight. When he splays his right hand out again, the spring light fractures against it into a dazzling array of colors.

“And _don’t_ make a Gollum joke,” he adds, and Sebastian presses a grin to his neck.

“I wasn’t,” Seb lies.

“And… are you… proposing too?” Kurt asks, turning his head just slightly to look at Seb’s eyes. He _thinks_ that’s Sebastian’s intention, and it doesn’t really matter, not really, but Kurt would _like_ to—but only if Sebastian wants too as well.

Sebastian laughs. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t been conveniently leaving wedding magazines around for me, Kurt,” he teases.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? So—are you? Proposing?”

“To be honest, I mostly just wanted you to have the silver ring, and to wear mine. You know weddings don’t mean much to me,” Seb says, shrugging, and Kurt nods, because that part, they’ve talked about. “But it’d be nice to do that and wear the gold ring too, in a year or two, maybe, if you don’t mind a long engagement.”

“Sounds _perfect_ ,” Kurt says. He can picture it in his mind already. Maybe at Marie’s vineyard, in the summer, if most of their family don’t mind traveling to France. Or here in New York City, there are some former churches whose interior he loves _._

Sebastian links their right hands. Their silver rings look beautiful together, Kurt thinks.

“You don’t mind, right?” Sebastian asks, after a pause. “I didn’t think you would, but maybe I should’ve done something a bit—bigger?” He lets go of Kurt’s hand to give a vague sweep, and Kurt assumes this encompasses the wedding, the proposal, the whole morning maybe.

There were other ways to do this, Kurt’s dreamed about those possibilities before. Maybe a giant party, with everyone they care about and even some faces they just know in passing, a series of romantic serenades from all their singing friends, a speech on love, Sebastian getting down on his knees and opening the ring box for Kurt in front of everyone.

But it’s been a long time since Kurt’s thought about those childhood fantasies of his. That’s never been their style, and what Sebastian gives him has always far outstripped anything he’s ever imagined for himself.

Kurt cups his face gently, thumbing where premature crow’s feet are just starting to appear.

“Perfect,” he repeats, and presses a soft kiss of thanks to Sebastian’s lips, which quirk into a smile.   

“Well then, maybe after I graduate and this show of yours wraps next year. Or even a little bit after, if you land another great role right afterwards and can’t spare the time for wedding planning,” Sebastian continues. Then he laughs, “But before you get too famous. Otherwise, you might ditch me for some stage twink.”

Kurt soaks in Sebastian’s warmth and feels like he might burst with affection.

“You’re the _lawyer,_ Sebastian,” he says, teasing back. “I’m the struggling musical theater actor, I don’t think it’s me they’ll be stealing.”

“In nonprofit law?” Sebastian says, his eyebrows rising.

“Even _better,_ ” Kurt says. “My lawyer with _soul._ ”

Sebastian smiles, and Kurt wishes he had a photographic memory, so he can remember that radiantly happy face of Sebastian’s for the rest of his life. But it’s okay, he has this man forever, he has time to keep putting that look on Sebastian’s face, Kurt thinks, feeling giddy and swept up all of a sudden.

“Hey, hey, _fiancé_ ,” Kurt says, and he turns fully to swing his arms and legs around Sebastian like an octopus. “Take me to bed.”

“That was my plan for the rest of the day anyway,” Sebastian says, but he rises and grips Kurt with both hands on his ass, carrying him towards the bedroom, and Kurt flushes all the way to his toes, because the strength? Super hot. He’s never complaining about how long Seb spends weightlifting in a useless attempt to gain more bulk again.

“Remind me to call your parents and mine in about an hour, after a round or two,” Seb says, as he throws Kurt down onto their sinfully big bed and frames him in with his limbs. “I made the mistake of telling them I was proposing, and they’ve been nagging me _for days_ about when I was going to do it., even though it was totally not _my_ fault that you have a schedule from hell.”

“Mhm-hmmm,” Kurt says, distracted by the miles of skin he’s uncovering as he slips open Sebastian’s shirt buttons. He leans in to run his tongue over a pert nipple.

Sebastian moans, pushing closer. “Also there’s a celebration with your friend tonight,” he says, his voice getting breathless, and then they don’t talk much at all.

They come late to the engagement party. Elliot waggles his eyebrows at him while Rachel sobs hysterically in his arms. Otherwise, people are polite enough to not say anything about the way they look like they’ve just rolled out of bed at 8pm. Which they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO CLOSE! I doubt you wonder where this is going, but I do have a couple of tricks up my sleeve still!


	25. Prior Commitments (Feb, 2021)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Blaine’s shaking his head, but Kurt’s remembering Sebastian’s words suddenly, echoing from years and years ago. He channels him in that moment, the maddening arrogance and shock-fire assurance that’s never quite gone away, even after all these years and all the ways they’ve changed."
> 
> Kurt makes his final decision.

**Prior Commitments (Feb, 2021)**

“No,” Kurt says, waits to feel the decision reverberate through him.

Except it doesn’t. He feels strangely calm, like the decision was made long ago and he was only putting the last nail in the coffin. He supposes, in a way, that _is_ exactly what happened.

Most of Kurt’s memory of that night, really, was of wanting to be in a more secluded corner, one where he could take advantage of a slightly drunk Sebastian. He remembers vividly flushing and biting down laughter, as Sebastian whispered into his neck rude conjectures about the other patrons, his alcohol-scented breath hot against his neck.

That night, next to Sebastian, he couldn’t have stopped the curl of his lips for anything.

Blaine stares at him, his eyes wide. His hands have completely stilled around his coffee cup. The silence lingers, turns awkward.

Finally, Blaine speaks, his voice shaken. He looks like someone has just slapped him across the face and the sting hasn’t quite hit yet. “I—Why? Just like that? Are you sure?”

Kurt nods, no hesitation.

“I love him. I’m happy with him.”

He smiles.

“He’s not – I know he’s not particularly heroic or kind or open-hearted, but—I love that about him. I fell in love with him when he was a lot less pleasant. And now… now, he _is_ kind and open and whatever else a lot, and trying really hard the rest of the time.”

Kurt laughs as he swirls the spoon in his coffee around. As he talks about Sebastian, he can hear his voice get stronger, surer. “And he's seen me change the exact same way, feel the same things I feel about him. I’m never going to betray that.”

Blaine’s eyes light up, as if there’s suddenly something for him to grab onto. He reaches out for Kurt with his right hand, his white band glinting in the light.

“I know you might feel obligated, but you don’t have to stay with him—Brody said that you guys have been together for a long time, but that’s no reason to—“

Kurt pulls his hand out of Blaine’s grip so quickly Blaine’s hand hangs there for two, three seconds before it drops awkwardly. Kurt would feel bad, except he can feel his pale skin flushing with the anger sweeping over him.

“I’m not _obligated_ ,” he bites out.

Blaine presses his lips thin and goes silent.

Kurt breathes. He tries to push away the indignation, because Blaine isn’t the first and won’t be the last to look at his relationship and not see any of the things that make it so precious to Kurt.

He collects himself as best he can, and says, looking straight at Blaine, so that Blaine knows he means every word he’s saying. “I can’t imagine loving someone more than I love Sebastian, a relationship that’s better than what I have with him. And more importantly, I don’t want to.”

They sit in stony silence some more.

Finally, Blaine asks, “Are you sure you’re never going to regret this? What if it doesn’t work out?”

Kurt looks up from his cake and narrows his eyes at Blaine, but Blaine only looks back defiantly. Some part of Kurt appreciates that Blaine doesn’t back down easily.

At least there, he and Sebastian share a trait. Apparently fate recognized he liked stubborn men, because it was one Sebastian’s most infuriating and most endearing traits.

Sebastian has always been stubborn, and it’s never been about conviction or ideology for him. It was only that he was too proud to do otherwise. Even when everything went wrong, he stood with his shoulders straight and kept on going.

Except with Kurt, sometimes. Then—like when he ended having to drop the class of a homophobic professor, or when one of the kids at the art nonprofit he volunteers at came to activities with suspicious bruises, or when his dad was hospitalized for months after a car accident… Then, he admitted defeat. He’d let his shoulder slump, and Kurt would come over and hug him tight without prompting, because while Sebastian would never say what he needed, Kurt would always give it to him if he could.

Kurt loves that about Sebastian even more, beyond all reason.

Blaine doesn’t have that quality, or any of the other ones that make Sebastian who he is.

 _My own special snowflake_ , Kurt thinks, and smiles.

“It might not. But I’m not going to regret it,” Kurt says. It would be like regretting having known and loved his mom, just to avoid the pain of her death.

Blaine slumps down a little in his chair, his voice is confused and exasperated, “It’s guaranteed, with your Soulmate.”

Kurt shakes his head.

“No, it’s not. Not all of them are in love, not all of them _stay_ in love. Sometimes they cheat, or separate, or settle down into something that isn’t really romantic love anymore. Not to mention the ones whose Names or mismatched, or whose Names change.”

“Even if those stories are true, they’re _rare_. Movies and TV shows might not be able to exist without conflicts like those, but most people have much more uncomplicated love lives. Most Soulmates are still madly in love,” Blaine insists.

Kurt shrugs. He doesn’t think Blaine will understand, but he finds he wants to explain anyway.

“When I first started seeing Sebastian, my dad hated him. He thought that I was going to have my heart broken, and he thought Sebastian wasn’t good enough for me,” he began. “So… I assumed that when he found out it wasn’t Sebastian’s name on my hand, he’d tell me it was all for the best, that the pain would fade with time and I’d forget all about Sebastian when I met my ‘Soulmate’.”

In his head, Kurt can still see his dad sitting at their kitchen table, listening to Kurt talk between sobs, his expression grim.

“Instead, he told me that he thinks a lot of the success of Found pairs really comes down to people being willing to work hard at their relationship, because they think that this person is _it_ for them. And he said that if we thought the same, felt the same, and tried our best, then there was no reason my relationship wouldn’t have as good a chance as any Found pair’s.”

Blaine’s shaking his head, but Kurt’s remembering Sebastian’s words suddenly, echoing from years and years ago. He channels him in that moment, the maddening arrogance and shock-fire assurance that’s never quite gone away, even after all these years and all the ways they’ve changed.

“Not to mention—I like challenges,” he says, looking straight at Blaine and letting a little of Sebastian’s signature smirk shine through.

Kurt doesn’t wait for Blaine to reply. He doesn’t need him to. He puts down a couple of bills on the table, wishes Blaine the best, and leaves.

He goes home to Sebastian.

* * *

 

The first thing he notices when he steps into their apartment is the stench of vodka. The next is the sound of retching coming from the bathroom.

He flings his jacket and scarf somewhere over the sofa, and runs to the bathroom.

Sebastian is flushing the toilet from a kneeling position on the floor. At the sound of Kurt’s entrance, he pulls back to rests his head on the door of the cabinet beneath the sink, staring up at Kurt with glazed green eyes.

“Wha’re you doing back here?” He slurs. His eyes flutter closed, as if it’s too much effort to even look at Kurt.

Kurt’s heart doesn’t give a painful twinge at that.

“To sleep? Because I live here? And make sure you don’t drown in your own vomit, apparently,” Kurt says sharply.

But when he touches Sebastian, his hands are gentle.

Kurt peels off the suit from Sebastian’s sweaty body (and God, he’s still in his lawyer clothes, how long has he been drunk?) and maneuvers him into the shower, where he scrubs at Sebastian ineffectually but gets him to rinse out his mouth, at least. By the time Kurt is done, he’s soaking wet too, so he strips down to his briefs and drops the rest of his clothes onto the floor along with Sebastian’s alcohol-sodden ones.

He somehow manages to manhandle Sebastian naked and wet into the bedroom, where he dries off his body and hair with a towel and puts him into some boxer briefs, while Sebastian does his best impersonation of a grumpy drunk cat. Really, whenever Kurt imagined this sort of scenario before, it tended to be a lot sexier.

Then they’re falling down onto the bed together, and Kurt works at the comforter until it’s cocooning them both.

Sebastian still smells like vodka, which would usually at the very least make Kurt wrinkle his nose.

But tonight, Kurt slides closer to his heat. He wraps his hands tight around Sebastian’s waist and buries his face into Sebastian’s neck, where the smell of vodka gives way to the smell of his fiancé, so familiar and so very very dear.

Kurt falls asleep listening to Sebastian’s pulse against his cheek.

* * *

 

Kurt wakes at nearly the same moment Sebastian does. He can see Sebastian’s red-shot eyes opening and then squeezing close, as he turns his head into the pillow—before he suddenly whips his head around and up, that is.

Sebastian is staring at Kurt with utter confusion on his face, and Kurt would find it funny if it weren’t so heartbreaking.

Kurt forces a grin, and teases, “Good morning, sunshine. Expecting someone else in your bed? How’s the hangover treating you?”

Sebastian continues to blink at him. Kurt stares back, determinedly continuing to smile.

“Why are you here?” Seb blurts out.

Kurt raises an eyebrow, and then pretends to look around.

“Oh look, I’m at the residence of one Mr. Sebastian Smythe and his boyfriend Mr. Kurt Hummel. This is _my_ apartment too, where else would I be?”

“With _Anderson_! I gave you _permission_!” He sounds incredibly indignant about Kurt not taking him up on his tacit offer.

Kurt stops smiling. “Did you really think I’d ever do that to you?”

Seb scoffs. He tries to move a little farther away, but his feet end up tangled in the blankets and so he just flails a bit, lilting to the side instead. Finally, Sebastian throws up his hands in the air and yells, “ Wonderful. Great. So you wanted to be a good person and break up in person first before you fucked him. Even better. What are you waiting for?”

And _he_ calls Kurt the drama queen.

For a split second, Kurt is angry. How _dare_ Sebastian thing Kurt would betray their decade-long relationship—just like that?

But then he sees the way Sebastian isn’t meeting his eyes, the hurt twisting up his body. The anger leeches out of him, and comes out as a sigh.

“What were you think, getting so drunk? Do you even know how much trouble it was taking care of you?” he says, instead.

“I thought you weren’t going to come home!”

“So what? You thought you should get drunk and pass out on the floor of the bathroom instead? What if I hadn’t come home to find you?” Kurt can hear his voice rise as the image coalesces—Sebastian sprawled across their bathroom tiles, unmoving, while Kurt stands there, helpless, too late.

“That—“ He stops. “That wasn’t exactly part of the plan. I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

It’s Kurt’s turn to scoff. “Plan. You had a plan?”

“I _did_.” He says. He’s looking at Kurt now, no longer avoiding his eyes, and Kurt can see he’s angry – or trying to appear to be anyway. “I just needed a little alcohol before I could pack everything up and wait for you to come back. I wanted our break-up to be on my terms. I wanted to make a strong impression, one you’d never forget.”

“Right. Because your smelly self was really sexy last night. Clearly that panned out very well.”

“Yes, all right, so I was pathetic, is that what you wanted to hear?” Sebastian snaps. His voice is cutting, like Kurt hasn’t heard in years. “What are you waiting for anyway? Since I’m already pathetic enough right now, you might as well get over with it. Go on. Break up with me.”

He straightens up on the bed and glares at Kurt, defiant and brave.

Kurt stares at him like the idiot that he is.

“I’m not going to,” he says flatly. "And I thought we've already had this discussion about not deciding by yourself that we need to break up?"

“Right then, I—What?” His outrage twists into confusion, and Sebastian stares at Kurt, his eyes bloodshot. He opens his mouth, closes it, wrinkles his forehead, opens and closes his mouth again.

A visibly surprised Sebastian is a rare enough sight that Kurt quirks a smile.

“I only met with Blaine to tell him he was misinformed,” he says. “Because I’ve already been Found.”

Sebastian is opening his mouth again, so Kurt for both their sake cuts him off. He raises his hand, flashes his silver ring.

“I even have proof, see?” he says, conjuring up a smirk.

Then Kurt rolls his eyes. “Though what exactly it says about me that my Name is some idiot lawyer who spins stupid fantasies, drinks himself to death, and then makes me clean up for him, I'm not—“

He’s cut off when Seb’s hands reach out. Slowly, oh so slowly, Seb caresses his neck, his face.

Kurt closes his eyes, doesn’t comment on the way he can feel Seb’s fingers shake against his skin.

Suddenly, the grip on the back of his head and shoulder tighten, and he tumbles into Seb’s body. They collide violently, and Kurt’s hands wrap around Seb automatically—whether to steady himself or Seb, he’s not sure. Seb’s face buries into his neck, and Kurt wraps his arms tighter around him.

He doesn’t comment on the wetness he can feel against his cheek. They stay like that, quiet, for a long time, breathing together.

When Sebastian finally pulls back, his face is red, but other than that, he looks like he always does after a night of getting drunk. Messy hair, puffy face.

Kurt smiles at him like an idiot and knows he was a thousand times right yesterday.

Then Sebastian bends down for a kiss. And no. _So_ not going to happen.

“Ugh, no!” Kurt says, throwing up a pillow between them. “That’s disgusting.”

Sebastian makes an offended noise.

Kurt rolls his eyes. “You and your dick probably wouldn’t be able to deliver right now anyway.”

“I’ll show you—“ Sebastian growls, but Kurt is already sliding off the bed.

He raises his eyebrows teasingly.

“Come on. I’m going to prepare breakfast, and you’re going to go shower, because you stink of puke.”

Then Kurt’s leaning down over Sebastian, whispering in his ear, “And _then_ we can have breakfast, and _then_ some celebratory non-break-up make-up sex. If I remember correctly, it’s pretty spectacular." 

Kurt hears Sebastian’s laughter echoing behind him as he's walking into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats on making it guys! (this is a bit early because I'm busy tomorrow)
> 
> For all intents and purposes, this is where the story ends, with the point of this soulmate AU triple-underscored. I don't think it came as surprise to any of you, but I hope it's cathartic anyway.
> 
> The only thing left is the epilogue, which is very self-indulgent and not totally necessary, but might address some lingering questions. I'm still making final edits to get the emotions right, I'll try my best to not make you wait until next week and post it shortly.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It’s just the two of them in their honeymoon suite now.

Their loved ones have all been either shipped home or sent to the hotel bar downstairs. Inside their suite, three or candles glow on every available horizontal surface that isn’t the bed. And even though Kurt explicitly told the hotel staff “no romance”, to spare him Sebastian’s inevitable caustic remarks, he doesn’t really feel like complaining, because Sebastian’s skin is gleaming golden in the candlelight.

Their matching white tuxedos were already put away side-by-side in the suite closet—and Kurt stands by their outfit decisions, even if Sebastian wearing white was not so much ironic as it was ridiculous, and Rachel took the opportunity to regal the wedding guests with the times she’d walked in on them. It was _tradition_ , and it complemented their complexions.

Kurt is stripped down to just his briefs and a thin white undershirt, while Sebastian now wears nothing but low-riding Columbia sweatpants.

Kurt wants to suck on his hollowed hipbones, and then down to the shadows lower still.

But not yet.

He looks down at the two black ring boxes lying innocently between them, waiting, and then back up at Sebastian. His stomach is twisting oddly, all of a sudden, the lazy lust evaporating as he sees the same uncertainty infect Sebastian.

He knows it’s time to exchange the rings, in full view of each other. They’d done everything the traditional way—given the ring boxes in front of the guests, keeping the ring exchange itself for when they are alone. The moment when one’s partner slides off one’s silver ring and replace it with the gold, engraved with their own name, is too sacred to be shared.

Of course, they are non-traditional where it matters most. Their rings won’t be matching.

Kurt thinks about Sebastian baring the skin of Kurt’s ring finger, skin that has been covered since he was eighteen, skin he himself hasn’t seen since then and meant only to be seen by him and his Name, and his hand trembles.

He knew this would happen today, of course, and yet he hasn’t let himself think through to this very moment, the details of how Sebastian might react. Fuck, he doesn’t know how _he_ will react when he’s seeing someone else’s name on _his_ Sebastian, whom he just declared in front of everyone they cared for as the love of his life.

Before he’s even consciously aware of the thought, he’s reached out his right hand for Sebastian’s, and Sebastian doesn’t hesitate in grasping back. They’re clutching at each other, their hands bloodless, and leaning in. Their lips meet desperately in the middle.

When they part, they’re both breathing hard.

Sebastian casts a glance over at the rings again, looks at Kurt, and flits his eyes back to the rings.

His eyes grow determined, the glint that made Kurt fall in love with him in the first place surfacing.

“I’m first,” he says, firmly. He throws the ring box marked S at Kurt, who fumbles to catch it. And despite the serious moment, Seb rolls his eyes.

“Thank God you never wanted to play a sport,” he says.

Then within pausing even a beat, he—against every tradition known to man, because Sebastian is still fucking _Sebastian_ , even on his wedding day—pulls off his own silver ring in one smooth motion and splays it out for Kurt to read in the candlelight.

There, in faded black letters. _Kurt E. Hummel._

Kurt can’t breathe.

“Let's get this over with. Put the ring on me so we can just get this fucking over with and get to the newlywed sex,” he hears Sebastian say. He almost manages to hide the waver in his voice.

Kurt shakes his head inanely—his mind still snagged on the reality from 5 seconds away and its contradictions with the image he’s now with—Kurt is _Sebastian’s_ Soulmate? Recently, the Name changing?—but it was a million in one possibility. Or always?—but how was that possible?

The only certain thing was that Sebastian _knew,_ before he pulled off his ring. The certainty and brashness of his actions couldn’t have been anything else.

Kurt looks up at Sebastian, the joy and anger and floating questions spilling all over his face, and Sebastian seems to read it accurately, because he answers with a too-steady voice, without Kurt even asking a word, “It didn’t change. It’s always been your name.”

For once, Kurt has nothing to say in response to that.

That doesn’t—that probably makes the _least_ sense of all. Why would Sebastian have broken up with him after Seb turned of age then? Why would Sebastian have hidden it from him all these years, when he knew very well that some nights Kurt stayed up and cried in fear, thinking about Sebastian one day leaving him in the dust for his Name. Sebastian could have _spared_ him all that, he thinks, flushing with anger.

But then he remembers Sebastian looking down ruefully at his black ring, the implicit _I do know him_ response _._ Sebastian obsessively asking whether or not he was happy, after they got back together in college, after every fight, after every anniversary, for years. Sebastian who used to stare at Kurt as if confused at his presence next to him, who was always so certain it would be Kurt who would walk out the door. Sebastian pushing him towards Blaine, even.

Kurt’s trying to take this information and incorporate it into the narrative of his and Sebastian’s relationship, and he doesn’t like the picture the jigsaw pieces are making. Arranged this way, every one of Kurt’s happy years were built on Sebastian’s hidden pain. It makes Kurt angry, and hurt, and overwhelmed with tenderness for him.

“You should have told me,” he settles on instead, in the end. He finds, to his surprise, that tears are already rolling down his cheek. Kurt swipes them away with one hand, and takes Sebastian’s hand gently in his with the others.

“I guess there’s no chance you’ll let me off the hook and get this show on the road, since it’s our wedding night?” Seb asks, weakly.

Kurt shakes his head.

“I have to know this story,” Kurt says, and then he somehow summons a light touch to his voice. “And don’t think just because I’m happy that my husband’s name is mine right now that I won’t be angry later, when I think properly about how many years you’ve hidden this from me.”

Sebastian still hesitates, so Kurt squeezes his hand.

“But we’re still fine,” he says, just to point out the obvious. “It’s a bit late now, of course, to change your mind. The time would’ve been before we walked down the aisle.”

Sebastian gives a pity laugh at his humor. He sighs, and Kurt can feel the exhalation blow softly across his cheek.

“I knew you were going to find out today,” Sebastian begins. “I meant to tell you earlier than this. Weeks ago. I just couldn’t—it shouldn’t matter, really. It _doesn’t_.”

Sebastian rubs his face with one hand, the one that isn’t gripping Kurt tightly right now. He’s not looking at Kurt when he says, “It’s just that… it did matter, a lot, years ago, and I didn’t want to unpack it all with you just before the wedding."

Kurt looks at him, and says, cautiously, prompting. “You kept dating me, after your eighteenth birthday. Even though you had doubts. I could see it even then, I just never asked any questions because I was too afraid you’d change your mind about continuing, and I was sure I was right.”

Sebastian laughs. He slides fond eyes back over to Kurt.

“Ever the optimist. I was _sure_ it wouldn’t work, actually. I just—decided to do it anyway. It was a stupid decision, but I thought. I didn’t want to say goodbye early. My 18th birthday was going to come eventually, and I’d know then the person who I could depend on to stay. When it was going so well that I got scared I was in too deep, I’d remind myself that, and it made it okay to keep dating you. You would inevitably leave, but I’d have someone else. Eventually. And I thought that I’d be willing to let you go then.”

He falls silent.

“But it was your name,” he says. His voice would be hard to hear but for the fact that it’s only the two of them in this room. “And when I saw—I hated you so much in that second, like I didn’t know I could hate someone.”

Sebastian’s voice starts to shake, just at the edges, and Kurt’s hand tighten involuntarily on his hand before he loosens his grip.

“ I’d always pitied the poor bastards with mismatched names you hear about on the news. I always thought they were pathetic, the way they settled for consolation relationships—or the ones that pined for the rest of their lives, I always thought those were the stupidest of all.”

“So you decided you’d break up with me,” Kurt says, his years-old confusion about Sebastian’s behavior then finally laid to rest. “You didn’t think I would stay with you, so you wanted to get the inevitable break-up over with early. You didn’t want us to get more serious.”

Sebastian smiles, and it’s not quite sad and not quite happy.

“Yes, that,” he says. “And—“

Here Sebastian breaks off, long enough that Kurt thinks Sebastian isn’t going to continue.

Then, suddenly, it all rushes out, like the words have been swallowed back for years and have just been waiting to be said all this time.

“And I thought that our mismatched names meant that you were good for me, but I wasn’t good for you,” he says, “It was going so badly at the time, and you were more distant every time I saw you. I was sure that was it, and I didn’t want to keep dragging it on just because you felt loyal or some shit like that. I wanted you to be the happiest you could be, and I didn’t want to be some burden or some consolation prize—or—that’s a lie—I did, but I knew we’d both be miserably eventually. We’d end up like my parents—”  

“But obviously the plan to break us up was never going to work,” Kurt cuts in, because Seb is breaking his heart. “Because I called you on your stupidity and arrogance.”

Sebastian huffs a watery laugh.

“Don’t be so conceited, babe,” he says, looking into Kurt’s eyes for the first time since the story began. “You just—kept pushing, and pushing. And I thought—in that case that… Well, why not? If the break-up were inevitable, you’d initiate it eventually. For now, I’d just keep… doing that. I’d stay for as long as you wanted to stay and were happy, until the day you weren’t. And then I’d book both our tickets out.”

Kurt can see it now, the anguish in Sebastian’s eyes back then, the anger that flared up sometimes when he looked at Kurt. At the time, he had dismissed it as Sebastian being torn between the Name on his finger and Kurt. He’d worked so hard to show Sebastian that _he_ was the right choice.

It hurts to realize now that Kurt had been unconsciously stabbing Sebastian’s underbelly with each thoughtful act—that Sebastian must’ve thought of each act as another thing ensnaring him more tightly to the web of their relationship, while Kurt stayed by watching, unattached.  

Kurt touches Sebastian’s cheek, and lets himself rest his head in the nook of Sebastian’s neck.

“But you eventually realized that day wasn’t coming, right? That’s why you asked me to marry you?” he asks.

Sebastian smiles.

“No,” he says. Before Kurt can even think to be hurt by that, Sebastian is pressing a dry kiss to his lips and then pulling back, smiling—and the smile looks difficult, but genuine.

“No one can guarantee that. But being with you convinced me that it was… possible,” he says.

Kurt is crying _again._

Sebastian rolls his eyes, but he’s also laughing and a little red too, and he gently rubs away Kurt’s tears. He fumbles around for the ring box, which had fallen from Kurt’s hands onto the bed at some point.

“Questions answered then? Let’s get this show on the road, any more feelings and I'll break into hives,” He says, glibly.

Then he’s flipping the lid of the ring box open and bringing Kurt’s hand to the ring, which grips the cold metal tightly in his shaking fingers. With Sebastian’s hand guiding him, Kurt slips the ring onto Sebastian’s finger, and that too is perfectly right.

 _Kurt E. Hummel_ , engraved onto the gold of the band, slides neatly on top of the _Kurt E. Hummel_ engraved onto Seb’s skin.

Kurt can’t take his eyes away from the sight. His name. On _his_ husband. Declaring to everyone that Sebastian is Kurt’s.

But—  

“I… I’m sorry,” he says, suddenly, helplessly. Because he doesn’t have a gift to match what Sebastian just gave him. His hands fidget with his own ring finger, where he can feel the silver band. It’s still so so heavy, a weight, and he was desperate just a few hours ago to have it off and replaced with the beautiful gold ring he’s picked out with Sebastian, but now he’s feeling guilty and petrified—

Seb tilts his face up.

“I told you it doesn’t matter, and I mean it,” he says. “I don’t—that’s a lie. I do care. But you were the one that taught me there are more important things.”

Kurt takes a shaky breath. He regroups himself. Nods. It’s fine.

He’ll just spend the rest of his life proving his finger a liar.

He extends his hand, as Sebastian takes hold of his ring box and pops open the lid to reveal a wide gold band. He pulls it out and holds it so Kurt can see, glinting off the candlelight, carved on the inner surface in bold letters: _Sebastian Smythe_.

He looks at Kurt and smiles, and Kurt returns it.  

Sebastian turns his gaze down, but Kurt keeps his eyes locked on his beloved face. Sebastian’s hand lifts up Kurt’s own, steady and warm and gentle, just like it always has been when Sebastian touches him. He feels fingers reaching to pull off the silver band, air blowing across skin not used to being bare.

He waits for the new cold weight of the gold band sliding onto his finger.

It doesn’t come.

A second passes. Then two.

Then, just as Kurt is beginning to frown at Sebastian’s bent head, Sebastian’s voice comes out, strained. “Look at your hand, babe,” he says. And he tilts Kurt’s right hand up into his field of sight, palm in.

And there, at the base of his ring finger, in faded black lettering… _Sebastian Smythe._

Kurt can’t breathe.

“Given you paid attention zero percent of the time back in school, I might’ve thought this is because you couldn't read then,” Sebastian drawls, and God, Kurt loves when he puts on that snooty upper-class inflection, “but I also saw your Name back in high school, and it definitely wasn’t this. You wouldn’t happen to have an explanation for me, would you?”

Kurt shakes his head, fresh tears staring to fall down his cheeks.

He hasn’t seen his ring finger bare since he got that black ring years ago, not even when he took off the black band in exchange for Sebastian’s silver ring. He always felt so betrayed by it, hated it for lying about what was in his heart  

He has no idea when it shifted, if it was bit by bit over the years, Blaine’s fading out for Seb’s, or if it just changed one day—whether it was some time during his freshman year, or when Seb came back to him, or when they decided to get engaged, or when he finally met Blaine and turned him down—so many significant moments, so many insignificant ones, on their way here.

He smiles through tears at Sebastian. _His Name._ Sebastian, whose Name is _him_.

Kurt knew. He always knew. He had to convince Sebastian and his friends and family and Blaine and even his fucking ring finger, but he knew.

And suddenly his hand seems unnaturally light.

“Put the ring on me already,” he demands. “What are you waiting for?" 

“Bossy bottom,” Seb mutters, but his fingers smooth away the tears on Kurt’s cheeks.

Quickly and efficiently, Sebastian slides the ring on, snug over his own name. The weight settles onto Kurt’s finger like a welcome responsibility.

Kurt turns it right and left to watch it catch the light. When he looks up, Sebastian is staring down at him.

“If he met you first, it would’ve been him,” he says.

Kurt doesn’t ask who Sebastian means. He thinks this will likely always be an insecurity of Sebastian, a sore spot that will always ache if prodded. It’s a good thing Blaine and they likely won’t ever be friends, what with the unavoidable awkwardness.

“Maybe,” he says, because he really doesn’t know. “Or maybe we would’ve been one of those Found pairs that didn’t work out. Or maybe I would’ve met you and been attracted to you anyway, and you me, and Blaine would’ve been just a footnote again. Or maybe you and I would’ve hated each other.”

Kurt pauses for effect, waits for Sebastian’s eyes to shift as he reads the certainty in Kurt’s face.

“But I don’t care about what-ifs,” Kurt says.

Everything hushes at the look in Seb’s eyes. He bends down. Slowly, softly, so softly, his lips brush Kurt’s, and it’s like being at the altar, exchanging vows, again.

Kurt blames sentimentality and endorphins for the sappiness of what he does next.

His left hand pulls Seb’s right hand up and against his cheek. Kurt turns and kisses Sebastian’s ring again and again, feeling lucky and a little drunk and a lot in love.

When he turns back, Seb is smiling. He tangles their fingers, presses Kurt down into the mattress, and pushes their bodies together, until Kurt’s breath hitches with the touch of the hard line of Sebastian against him. He grips onto Sebastian’s hand for dear life and catches Sebastian’s lips, content with just this for now.

In the dim light of New York City cascading through the wall-length windows, their gold rings gleam side-by-side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done!!! :D Thank you for sticking with me for roughly half a year, this is my first long fic and I hope you liked it. If you've been following silently, do leave me a comment, your comments and feedback seriously give me life (I literally obsess over them). 
> 
> You can assume they live happily ever after. They eventually own a French vacation home and a tiny dog whom Seb hates, because Kurt makes it little outfits and because the dog irrationally prefers Seb. Kurt talks Seb into adopting adorable children eventually, but not before Sebastian goes on to snark and save the world, and Kurt sees his name on an envelope at the Tony awards. Because in addition to being my different-soulmate-au-take and my manifesto on who Kurt is and what he needs in a relationship, it's that sort of happy ending fic. 
> 
> If you want an AU version of this already AU, check out [The Presence of Absence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14163435), which diverts halfway through this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Note - my relationship with canon is shaky as best, as I quit watching maybe halfway through Season 2 and kept abreast through the occasional song cover and episode summary. I've taken bits and pieces and reconstructed this timeline, but if you have suggestions, feel free.
> 
> Title taken from The Time Traveler's Wife because I'm a sap.


End file.
